Good Luck: Episode Fifty-One
My psychiatrist was dressed as a sad clown.
Rainbow wig. Greasepaint.
Bells on his shoes. He answered the door and asked me what I was supposed to be. “Stanley Kowalski. But I don’t have my costume on.” I told him my real name, I wasn’t a trick ‘r treater.
He removed his silk glove. I shook his hand. The appointment had not been written in the log. His office was full of green fog.
A record was spinning, Now That’s What I Call Halloween Vol. 666. He lifted the needle. The moaning and chain rattle calmed.
The couch was covered in artificial cobwebs. He motioned to it.
I could see out the window: werewolf children walked by, witch children, Star Wars children, grim reaper children, a laughing mother dressed as a mother, a father with a flashlight.
It was just after dusk. I sat down.
“How are you feeling?”
I looked at his red rubber nose. Behind him I could see his certificate on the wall. He’d graduated from Johns Hopkins University.
“I’m not feeling good,” I said.
“I can’t remember.”