pt. 2

I settled into my high-backed chair as O. walked in. I gave him a friendly once over. He was a short man – perhaps 5’3” – but he was hunched over so his true height might be close to 5’7” or 5’8”. He had squirrel eyes that darted around my office quickly before the settled on me in my chair. We studied each other with polite quiet. He had a rather bulbous nose and a mole on his neck that had three long hairs growing out of it. In China, it is said that long mole hair is a sign of good luck. This fellow must have been very lucky judging by the mole. His hair was of a dusty blonde-brown that could have been attractive if he bothered to wash and comb it. His dress was a bit shabby and I wondered how he could afford my fees. He looked as if he could barely afford to eat three meals a day everyday.
“Please sit,” I said smiling as I tried to squelch the image of him eating road kill like I’ve heard many homeless do when times got tough.
He gingerly sat down and looked at his scuffed shoes. “Apparently I go’ a problem,” the man said to my rug.
“Take your time,” I say as I move to my counseling seat. Sitting down, I cross my legs. O. watches me from under his lashes. My skirt doesn’t cover my knees, but I don’t take his gaze amiss. Man men have an appreciation for a fine pair of kneecaps.
“Well, ya’ see, it all started a good while ago,” he started…