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Encounter in a Parking Lot
JAMA. 1999;282:814.
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| Since this article does not have an abstract, we have provided the first 137 words of the full text and any section headings. |
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So strange, the words she flung from fissured mouth, her fragile hair white, blowing, her cheeks rage-whipped, thick-stockinged legs bowing in the breeze. Seventy-something eyes that should have smiled like somebody's grandmother, crisped me, instead and my shopping cart, full tilt aginst her fender, fresh-scarred. You people are all the same, she hissed. Go back to Mexico.
So strange, the thoughts that birthed and almost voiced from my indignant brown-skinned soul. I'm a doctor, lady, and it's not Mexico. (As if India made it better.) But worse the shock of a smugness festering, drained by her lancing words. Blood, liver, lungs, the same beneath all skin, yet a coat of white had darkened mine with ugly taint. Sorry, I said, of course I'll pay. And yes, we people are all the same.
Bhuvana Chandra, MD
Northridge, Calif
Edited by Charlene Breedlove, Associate Editor.
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