It’s funny how you remember some things as clear as day and others are just too fuzzy to make out. That’s the way I remember the day. I only start really remembering sometime around when the dinner crowd comes in.

I had an appointment with Dr. Hale that day, and I had to get out of work during the dinner rush. Tony obviously could’ve killed me for it. There was no way in hell he wanted me going to my “shrink’s” during the dinner rush on a Friday night. I remember that conversation very clearly. Tony tried to stop me.

“Whatsamattah wid you, huh?”

“Nothing.”

“You got a head on yah shoulduz?! It’s the dinnah rush and we’re a pizzeria!”

“I know, but this is really important, Tony.”

“Important, imshmortant! Can’t you make an earlier appointment or somptin?”

“No…”

“Whattammy s’possed to do without my smart employee?!”

“You’ve got Mario…”

“You call that smart?”

“I call it close.”

“I don’t need close, I need – ”

“Uh… Listen Tony, I’ll call up Mikey or someone… But, I gotta go.”

“Eh… Fine. Get outta here ‘fore I change my mind…”

“See ya, Tony!”

I grabbed a jacket, rushed out, and caught a bus.

Just to backtrack a little, I know that you probably are wondering about that “office Christmas party” and, I know we’re no office… But, the point was, I was doing well. I was doing very well. Now, where was I? Oh yeah.

I grabbed my jacket, rushed out, and caught a bus to Doctor Hale’s office. The bus ride going there was really fuzzy. I remember getting on and getting off. That's pretty much it. If I had to describe the person who sat next to me, because he'd committed some heinous crime... I'd have wished the cops luck at finding him.

Anyway, so, I got to Doctor Hale's office. It was a pretty place, one of those uptown, high-end buildings. He had a secretary, a waiting room, and some magazines and newspapers, like the Times and the New Yorker, on a coffee table to occupy those patients who had to wait for him. I picked up today’s copy of the Times, found a seat by the wall, shed my jacket, and started going through some articles. There was some story about a shooting outside a Chase on the West Side. Reading it carefully, I wondered what this city was coming to. Then, I realized my name was being called.

“Kelly Turner? Doctor Hale will see you now.”

I stood up and put the Times down on the coffee table in the waiting room. Picking up my jacket, I made my way to the door and turned the knob.