Anyway, so I was sitting behind my desk contemplating whether I should go home or not or whether I should just grab the bottle from my top drawer and spend the night on the couch. The friggin couch. Sometimes I wish I could just lie there and tell people about my problems. Sheesh. What problems are a head shrinker allowed to have? If my wife knew the half of what goes on in this city... but nevermind that. I poured myself two fingers of Johnny Walker and did what I always do - contemplate. What's a shrink to do?
That's when she walked in. No, not Tricia, my secretary, and not my wife Nora, but two beautiful legs that seemed to go on forever. She had auburn hair and doe-like green eyes that were misted with the tears of only minutes before or at least what seemed like the tell tale signs of running eyeliner. She was a doll. Somewhere in Heaven there was a sad broad with beautiful auburn hair pictured in countless "lost child" posters all over the place and needed a ride back.
I could only look at her as she sat down in the leather chair opposite from me. I casually lit a cigarette and began to ask her how she felt when it occurred to me that Tricia was gone and that no one should have been able to even get into my office, let alone have an unscheduled thearpy session past midnight. "This is just too much," I quietly told myself as I slouched in my chair and prepaired myself for the typical stories of a father that was never there and a mother that ignored the beatings from her husband just like she ignored her children. All the lies. The constant fimiliarity with cruelty.
She was sobbing. Totally hysterical, but aren't dames always hysterical? I wanted to ask what the hell she was doing breaking into a psychiatrist's office in the middle of the night when she said, "Doctor..... please...... my father...... is missing......"
Tune in for part two next time I get lit. LOL
That's when she walked in. No, not Tricia, my secretary, and not my wife Nora, but two beautiful legs that seemed to go on forever. She had auburn hair and doe-like green eyes that were misted with the tears of only minutes before or at least what seemed like the tell tale signs of running eyeliner. She was a doll. Somewhere in Heaven there was a sad broad with beautiful auburn hair pictured in countless "lost child" posters all over the place and needed a ride back.
I could only look at her as she sat down in the leather chair opposite from me. I casually lit a cigarette and began to ask her how she felt when it occurred to me that Tricia was gone and that no one should have been able to even get into my office, let alone have an unscheduled thearpy session past midnight. "This is just too much," I quietly told myself as I slouched in my chair and prepaired myself for the typical stories of a father that was never there and a mother that ignored the beatings from her husband just like she ignored her children. All the lies. The constant fimiliarity with cruelty.
She was sobbing. Totally hysterical, but aren't dames always hysterical? I wanted to ask what the hell she was doing breaking into a psychiatrist's office in the middle of the night when she said, "Doctor..... please...... my father...... is missing......"
Tune in for part two next time I get lit. LOL
