Today’s final story….
“Last night I dreamt I was being chased by Dali’s tigers.”
The man twisted uncomfortably on the small leather sofa. It was surely meant for the opposite affect, but ever since that night – the night of the fire – he had a hard time relaxing. He was restless, angry, and haunted by terrible dreams.
“What does that even mean?”
The psychiatrist was a gaunt scarecrow of a man who wore granny spectacles of the type John Lennon popularized, and alternated between utter silence and lengthy exposition, crossing and uncrossing his stork-like legs as if he was terribly itchy from a bad case of crabs or else had to pee desperately. He nodded as if he’d been asked a yes or no question, and…
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