Sluts in Love

"How are you doing today, Paris?" Monty asks. I fucking hate this guy. I hate his name. It's not a full name. It's only a nickname.

"I'm pretty fucking swell, thanks," he says I should watch my cursing. Monty doesn't write things down like the normal ones. He stores all this fascinating information in his shiny bald head.

"I know you're turning eighteen in two days, Paris," he says. He tries using this soothing voice but I want to drag an iron rake across his throat.

"And I know your wife's fucking some other guy right now."

"You know that doesn't work on me, Paris."

"She's not too bad for an old lady, you know. She had a few moths down there, but we went at it all night long."

Monty rubs his eyes."Are you out of refills, Paris?"

I pick at the seams of his puke green sofa. The room looks like some fatass freshman got sick while disecting frogs. "I am."

He starts writing on his little pad. "If I give you a new prescription for the Effexor, what will you tell Escalus if he asks?"

I stand up and very nearly kiss the old man. "If dick weed asks, we defiantly did not end fifty minutes early and you're defiantly not going to jerk off in the bathroom while thinking about me and your wife going at it like wild animals."

He's about to say something but I cut him off and snatch the prescription. "See you next week, doc."