I struggle with calm. My inner rage is so much a part of who I am, they're inseparable. I breathe deeply then respond with more civil words than the ones I was going to say. “This is really gay.” That counts as benign for me. The shrink sighs. Probably sucks and spews more CO² in a day with me as a patient than anyone in his entire career. “It's mandated, Mr. Simon, as you're aware.” “Yeah, I gotcha, but this whole quack like a bird while I'm under? It blows donkey dicks.” I lift my eyelids, arms folded across my chest as I stubbornly blow my millionth session on the couch. This is what our world has come to: Coddle Central. Throw poor broken Thorn a bone. His mama just died from a drug overdose, he's still suffering trauma for being falsely incarcerated at a young age. He's deep undercover so he needs stress relief.
