When she stopped the car, I didn't exit. Instead I started
sighing, I don't know, repeating it as if a formula to keep me grounded.
She waited silently until I stopped. I have to say, despite
the wretchedness that would occur between the two of us in years to come,
she hit the right notes on that night. I think you need to
see someone, she said. I looked at her in working class hero horror.
You don't mean I need to see an actual psychiatrist?
Psychologist, a therapist, you need to talk about what's going on inside your
head.
But that's the thing, I muttered. Everything has speeded up
to such a point I feel as if it's all inside my head
and I can't get away from none of it. Then talk it
out, she said. Or in, I actually found myself laughing.
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