Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

room at Dr. Albert’s clinic smelled of rubbing alcohol and old magazines. I sat on the examination table, my left shoe and stocking removed, while the doctor rotated his silver fountain pen between his fingers as he looked at my foot.

“A simple pair of socks would protect this skin, Martha, but your daughter seems to think you need a facility,” Dr. continue reading …