In 2009 I am still employed in the hospital clinics.

My partners have just had the meeting where they ambushed me and told me to shut up about the patient quota.

Five of us share an office. Four of us are there. My brain plays music most of the time. It can be hilariously appropriate.

I start to hum.

One of the other physicians bites. "I know that song. What is it?" He frowns.

"Oh, we are singing it in chorus," I say. "For some reason it's in my head this morning."

And I sing: "Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart, echos the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!"

"Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me? Behind the barricade is there a world you long to see? Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!"

I stop.

My partners are dead silent and do not meet my eyes.

"I hope you can come to the concert," I say, "Let me know if you want the dates."

And I go to see my patients.