Out With The Old
Building Seven, the TB building, had grown aloof from the rest of Mulloy Veterans’ Hospital in the five years since the war. It lay less than fifty yards from Building Six, the paraplegic building – they faced the same flagpole of the same windswept Long Island plain – but there had been no neighbourliness between them since the summer of 1948, when the paraplegics got up a petition demanding that the TB’s be made to stay on their own lawn. This had caused a good deal of resentment at the time (“Those paraplegic bastards think they own the goddam place”), but it had long since ceased to matter very much; nor did it matter that nobody from Building Seven was allowed in the hospital canteen unless he hid his face in a sterile paper mask.
Extract, the first paragraph from a story, Out With The Old by Richard Yates, from his collection, Eleven Kinds of Loneliness.