A surreal experience.
The building is behind a strip mall, around the corner. Its barely maintained parking lot is filled with cars. The structure is an ugly tan with a blue overhang where the businesses' name once proudly hung. Now a cloth sign simply reads Vaccine Clinic: appointment only, tied in place by rope. The interior is what remains of an abandoned retail location. The floors are a grimy, speckled tile, chipped and scuffed. The walls were once painted yellow and dirty white peg board used to promote the various wares this store sold. The ceiling is dirty metal beams and florescent lights. In one corner, banners from the now defunct businesses still hang: "RZONE." With a stylized O. The back half of the building is hidden behind hastily installed curtains. Instead of shelves are rows upon rows of tables or single plastic folding chairs, each one spaced out from the next. At the tables sit men and women in camouflage uniforms or dark scrubs. In the chairs sit the disparate people, mos