By Alex Bottle
The tall, portly gentleman breezed into Sami’s clinic just as he always did at donation time. No one breezed out again afterwards, not even him, and she felt every note of his whistled “New York, New York” breach her professional facade. She forced out her nurse technician smile and scanned his proffered wrist ID. She never relished observing her handiwork’s effect on the other donors, but she always said it was worse with friends.