.. brief examination ..

"I have never been a person to open up," John said. He was slumped in an oversize brown leather couch, on the 42nd floor of a building that was placed directly in the centre of New York, give or take a few feet "Its just hard for me, you know?" Opposite him was a woman with a sharp edged clipboard and greasy slicked back hair. They were the only distinguishable features she had. She was one of those feminist workers, a woman who had no eye on social status, but only monetary gains. A woman, that wore so much weight in black material, that death himself probably had the number of her tailor. She stared back disconcertingly. The pen that she gripped tightly between her fingers twitched a little, then started making coarse scratching noises on the clipboard. John sat there. That's all he could do. The woman stopped her writing, and placed her board on the dark oak table that separated John and her. She picked up her coffee, which was also black, sipped it quickly, and then rushed it back to the coaster on the table.
"Mr. Johnson…I don't think there's anything really wrong with you" She spoke in a surprisingly gentle tone, albeit it with a sharp poignant sting that would sink any mans pride. Her accent was from upstate. Somewhere posh; She had a type of accessible elocution. At this point John noticed two things. One was that he was sweating. His hairy armpits felt like a liquid explosion. The second thing was that he had noticed a small spot under the woman's chin. He smiled. "…Well Mr. Johnson?"
John snapped out of his momentary blackout and tried to look attentive.
"…But how…how can that be?" John muttered nervously. "I mean, why do I always fall for every girl that doesn't want anything to do with me? Why is my heart always broke? Surely it must be a condition? I've been coming here for months"
The doctor looked at him with a sympathetic glare. "John, you work as a technical writer" She paused for a moment to flick some pieces of paper back and forth on her clipboard, stood up, and started circling the room. "You have no history of mental illness in your family, you don't drink, smoke or have unprotected sex" (The woman seemed to fight back the urge to replace unprotected with 'any') "you are perfectly healthy".
John sighed like a boy who has just been denied desert after a grotesque dinner.
"So what do I have then?"
"Bad Luck" replies the doctor.

.. back ..