"Have mercy on me, sir," he begged the pharmacist. "All I need is a sample pack to get me through until my doctor will open up again."

The pharmacist's eyes were unreadable behind shining glass spectacles, the reflections of the blue screen print in front of him rendering them unreadable. "I'm sorry. I'm not allowed--."

"Please!"

The pharmacist started to close the window, paused, and then said reluctantly, "there's a trial you might be able to join. It started tonight. Over on the Mission Street clinic, they're running one. It's not exactly what you're used to, but it might be enough--"

"Thank you!" Before the pharmacist finished speaking, the man was gone, running toward Mission Street with the halting gait of unathletic desperation.

The pharmacist picked up the phone. "One more for you," he said quietly.


Inspiration: Calling the pharmacy to get scrips refilled.
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: I like this little bit, but it's not unique enough to start a story on its own.