He sat back in the plastic chair and prepared to be patronized by a simpering middle aged woman with no dress sense. He could picture her now, a little plump, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke and smiling at him like some insipid aunt who only tolerates you because you're related. Of course she would sit in the plush rotating chair opposite with a clipboard and a pen, pretending to be listening while she's thinking about what to have for lunch. He inwardly groaned and shifted in his seat as the door creaked open. In stepped a young man who could have leaped straight from the pages of some Christian Dior advert. He sat up, this counseling session was going to be interesting after all.

By james, October 11, 2013.