The insight about the duct tape regeneration sent shock waves through her nervous system as Dr. Flo gritted her teeth and kept her head down, willing herself to restrain the impulse to allow all the problems to once again get swept under the rug. “When will I learn?!” She spoke out loud to nobody in particular. Flo tasted the bitter pill of resignation underlying intellectually forced acceptance.
Following my meeting with Russ, I reached out to David thinking, “…shit is about to jump off.’ I need his talented but drunk ass ready even if this requires an intervention to get him ready. He was nowhere to be found. Phone calls went to voicemail. I go by his crib, the wife and kids ain’t seen or heard from him. She’s probably lying though. That woman ain’t never liked me for some reason.
Dr. Flo sat propped up in bed, staring at the empty document aglow with the blinking cursor on her new Macbook. Noticing the way it felt to admit to her recent purchase, she deepened her breath as the combination of embarrassment, guilt, and anxiety slowly rose and spread throughout her chest and into her throat. Damn, you’re sensitive, Flo, said the Voice in her head...
Lita and I are having breakfast at this little spot near her place on the southwest side of Atlanta known for its great food and even better-looking female wait staff (smile). I'm facing the door as a precautionary measure. You never know when shit might jump off. “…If I’m going down, I’m seeing the shit that’s comin my way…” is my thinking. The front door opens and in walks this Cat name Russ.
