Everyone in the hospital had meaty legs, the kind that became oppressive when Bart observed them for too long. Surely, the nurses and doctors had strangely large legs, but at least they covered up with their scrubs. The patients had no shame they wore the shortest of shorts hiked up to thighs that reminded Bart of the parabolas he’d made in high school Calculus that were too big for his calculator to register. Like the far reaches of space, his mind couldn’t encompass it all. He would go insane.
Peculiarly, every large leg tapered off into a tiny foot. It was like they were all cartoon pigs, tottering around in tiny shoes. Some patients were in denial, their shoes were so small and their feet so massive. He wondered if that was what these people were in here for. Was it contagious? Bart checked his legs, his feet. He’d always thought his legs looked average, but now it seemed they were ballooning out. He felt as if he were drowning in a sea of ugly legs. Pushing the large doors into the hot summer air, he flung his eyes toward the parking lot.
There was a young woman in six-inch high heels, bent over, taking her luggage from her van. She was bent over in a short skirt. Her calves were full, her feet normal-sized, her thighs smooth like cream. Bart gasped out the bad hospital air. The woman looked at him suspiciously. Bart lit a cigarette and watched.