Well Shit. doc

“Well shit doc. i don’t really know why I am here. i mean . . . i don’t really think i am any crazier then you. and i mean you gotta be crazy. you just sit and you just sit, you just. . . listen. all day. you don’t say anything. its. its just not right.” I pulled out my cigarettes, knowing he doesn’t smoke. hates smoke. cannot stand the ethereal beauty of faint wasps drifting to the heavens like so many souls of the damned. inhaled into ones’ lungs. enjoyed with the greed of a small child. i offer him one. He accepts. I am
blown away.
I begin to pace. never able to think sitting down. terrible. “cleanliness is next godliness.” I say in my best weatherman’s voice, looking around a clean. calm. idyllic. office. It cannot be more than seventy-five feet to that liquor store. I think to myself, cocking my head slightly to the side. my eyes looking. becoming blurred with lost. they observed a window that had, with little to no doubt in my supposed frail mind, been cleaned within in the past week. maybe month. well dammit it had been cleaned sometime recently. “The autonomy of the Tibetan people is what’s really getting me doc. No reincarnation of the Dali Llama? Where are we to go? Hell. That’s where.”
I am still pacing around the room. well more specifically him. He seemed unperturbed. But its all right, i mean him no harm.
I grind out my cigarette into the ash tray and look expectantly at the Doctor. he has matched me. drag for drag. with an air of finality he grinds his cigarette out onto his thigh, the flame slowly igniting the surrounding fabric. No. wait. there are two cigarette butts in the ashtray. and no burn in his $59.95 Bergner’s dress pants.
“It takes two to tango. doc,” I don’t think he understands me. But no worries, he is not charge of this room. I have been dominating the discussion so long now, I doubt that he has the ability to even muster a word now.
“Tell me about your dreams.” he speaks. caught me off guard.
The question seems troubling. only a delinquent would pose such an inquiry to another fool. and two wrongs make a right. but never the matter, the matter was raised. “I don’t know anything about my dreams. The longer i think about such things. the blurrier it gets.” I freeze. place the ball in his court. goddammit.
he makes no response. The stock photograph of the old man in the picture frame. i bought yesterday makes no response.

i begin to panic. why is he not saying anything? that is his job. he must not have anything more to say.

“Rome was not built in an a day.” I mutter. maybe to myself, but nevertheless utter the phrase, carelessly. He makes no moves to acknowledge i had spoke at all. I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. No one ever calls me. nope. no one there.
“I believe our time is done here, mr”