Ergonomy: Part 1


I bought the gun after my therapist said he wouldn’t have sex with me. I didn’t plan to use it. I only felt somehow that the world would be kinder to me if I were armed. My therapist’s name was Dr. Harding, but I called him Warren because it was 1989, and therapy was different from how it had been when my mother went in the ’60s. His name, if you didn’t catch that, was Warren Harding, and the freaky part was that he looked a lot like Warren Harding, with a square jaw and heavy eyebrows. I wasn’t attracted to him, not really. I tried to seduce him mainly because I was bored—terribly, painfully bored.
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