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February 21, 2003
A session at the bank is called a "bleed." I went in for bleed #2 today. The bus rolled past a warehouse bearing a sign: "NO HELP WANTED." I saw a failed pick-up attempt in the blood bank dayroom. "What's your name?" "Kim." "How come it says right here," says the man, gesturing toward the register, "your name's Clarissa?" "You asked me for my NAME. You didn't ask me for my REAL name." My time arrives. I relax. I squeeze the little red pillow when I feel pressure. I move my boots to let the staff pass through the ward.