#16

he droned on. something about disassociation or repression. one of those clinical words that come a dime a dozen. she remembered her last bill. okay, maybe more like ten dollars a dozen. either way, they meant nothing to her.
he had been recommended to her. he was the best in town. after this appointment, she would decide for herself. after all, she'd already been to all the others.
more talking. she thought about newspaper awards. they always give crappy pieces of paper away that read "best burger in town", or "best place for a manicure." and each establishment would place it in a black frame from the dollar store and the manager would point it out to new customers and walk around with his chest puffed out for a month. and 3 years later, on the verge of being shut down by the health department, the sign still hung in the lobby.
"...and it seems to me," she snapped back to the present at the harsh tone of his voice. "It seems to me that you have layers of repressed memories that we need to dig through. Go ahead and make a few more appointments on your way out."
she nodded and left. remembering the bill again, she breezed by the receptionist on her way out.
a young man, maybe 25, dressed in black grunge clothes stopped her. "you got a quarter? i want to get drunk tonight."
she gave him a dollar, smiling, and thanked him for his honesty.