Rob Stephenson

The Last Appointment of The Day

11 am. First appointment of the day. I shouldn’t laugh, but: “Relationship issues?” You’ve been married a month and your “issues” amount to her having hobbies and you having a narcissistic mother. Let me know when, after 13 years of biting your tongue and pulling the weight of two grow-ass adults, you’re on the shit side of a bitter divorce, operating a failing counselling service from a campervan, while a man who collects fingertips awaits delivery of the $15,000 you owe him thanks to a two of spades that should have been an ace.