He spat blood again and watched thin veins of crimson disappear down the drain. He was sweating profusely and his glasses had slid down his nose. The reek of blood made him sick. He had been bending before the washbowl for the past half-hour. His jaws ached, his back was stiff. He couldn’t take it anymore.
He gargled his mouth with cold water, spat, and stepped out of the bathroom yelling, “Dave, I’m done flossing. Book an appointment with the dentist. Never mind the money.”
“Okay dad … I told you so,” Dave called out from the living room.
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Painful.
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