We don’t have Gatorade, but I brought you some juice.” The Neighborcare Health staffer sets a paper cup down on the table, but the man sprawled in the waiting room chair, eyes shut, head tilted back against the wall, doesn’t move. She keeps talking anyway, her voice soft and gentle. Walk-in appointments don’t start for another two hours, she continues, but he can rest here and no one will bother him. The man slowly nods, the effort etched on his face.
On the quiet north end of Post Alley, past the metal bistro tables of the Perennial Tea Room and the racks of onesies outside the children’s boutique, Neighborcare’s Pike Place
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