Choose your own Adventure


The fucker with the ponytail leaned forward. "You've got to realize that your shit does stink". For some reason that was one of his favorite expressions.

"You shit the bed and now you don't like the story you're in anymore. You want to stop reading right?"

He probably got that ponytail from being a hippie in the 70s. He didn't want to be one of those cogs working in the corporate machine, man. So he got a job as a high school counselor... to help the kids, right? And even though he was clearly over 50 years old now he must have kept the ponytail until today to keep that connection to his hippy past and let everyone know he wasn't like them. Maybe he thought it would make him seem more relatable to the kids.

The hippy counselor raised his eyebrows as he passed along the moleskine notebook and pen. "Write your own story. You choose the rules, you get to write anything you want. It can be serious or ridiculous or anywhere you want to take your head. And maybe when you read it over you'll be able to figure out what's actually going on in there. You can share it with anybody or nobody."


The patient was interrupted by an opening door, piercing through the absolute darkness of his bedroom with a small sliver of light. Surprised, he jumped slightly.

"Honey sorry, I thought I heard you saying something".

"No", he lied reflexively, "it must have just been the TV".