I lay down on the couch in Dr. Shengold’s office,
facing away from him. For a moment I almost balked
at telling him the things that had just been going
through my mind, but at $200 an hour, I couldn’t
afford to suppress anything that might prove illuminating. I described
all the things I had thought and felt and imagined
as I sat in the waiting room. As I spoke
I was aware of the sound of his pen scratching
across the pages of the notebook he jotted in furiously
while I talked. Where would that notebook end up eventually?
Paraphrases from the novel The Horned Man by James Lasdun.