I was sitting in the cardiologist's office waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Around me in the room were people mostly older than I, which means they were pretty old. . . .
I was sitting in the cardiologist's office waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Around me in the room were people mostly older than I, which means they were pretty old. After a few minutes, a woman in her late twenties or early thirties came in, towing a sample case. She sat next to me and brought out her Blackberry.

Being the snoop that I am (hey, I'm a journalist--it goes with the territory), I glanced over at the tiny screen. Her e-mail was pretty boring, and in a few minutes the nurse finally called me back, so I didn't really learn anything interesting, except that security isn't at the top of most people's list of concerns.

After much poking and prodding, the cardiologist was forced to admit that I wasn't going to drop dead immediately, and in fact, he admitted reluctantly, I would probably live out the week at least. So he handed me a prescription and sent me on my way. I glanced at it and sighed. Another 25 dollar co-pay.

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