obliviate

It's last December. I'm driving downtown in my mother's ford to make an evening therapy session. It's pretty nice out. There is a bit of coke in a little baggy that's tucked into my pocket. I pay for parking. Cut myself two lines before heading up to meet my therapist. I'm wearing sunglasses and my therapist starts talking to me about a project that she thinks I should get involved with. Some bullshit like she's writing a short story and wants my help with the ending. I tell her I don't want to write anymore. She's looking at me but I can tell she doesn't know if I am looking back at her, because of the sunglasses. I sling my leg over the chair arm. I cry for about 15 minutes.