The receptionist comes in and nods hello to me. I smile at her reluctantly. I don't really want to be here. That's not exactly true. I don't really want to wait any more. But I stay politely seated, reading the posters about prenatal care and monthly breast exams.

A young Latina girl sits across from me. We've both been waiting here a while. The bustle from Haight Street finds its way in through the open windows, rising on the afternoon breeze.