On a Saturday afternoon in July, Frank Iero walks into his therapist's office. He's done this every Saturday for the past year, and this is his last session. He goes for anger management and the occasional nervous breakdown, and the same thing happens almost every session. Frank walks in the therapist greets him they talk about what they've done the past week Frank asks "How's your mom?" the therapist's mom is still dying Frank thinks she should be put out of her misery but he knows his therapist wouldn't like to hear that then they talk about Frank and his feelings and if there's anything or anyone new in his life and there never is and that's basically how every session goes on. Frank then walks out into the waiting room to a circle of people, each with tickets in their hands to determine their place in line to see a therapist, similar to a deli or butcher. Half of the people in the room are the same ones that come every Saturday, and the other half are new. The people that come every Saturday are mostly depressed teens and wives who can't seem to handle their horrible sex life. Frank's favorite is Vena, a teenager who's got scars all over her fucking arms. God fuck her arms are so fucking pale and the scars are from deep cuts and it amazes Frank that she's still alive. There's one kid that has a table of the times that everyone comes in, and comes in at the time when the desk lady would call the number 10 and give out number 13, the kid's favorite number. As for the other half of the room, they consist of drug addicts. Usually there's a homeless person that sneaks in, or some 30 year olds looking to get prescribed some benzos, but never do. Today, there's only two people, and one of them is going bat shit insane. And God the guano one was fucking hot, Frank thought. The kid had fiery red hair, pale skin and the hottest ass. Frank had never seen him before, and he wanted to see more, so he'd have to figure out how to do that. Frank could either go straight up to him and ask him for his number or something. In between thinking about ways to get into the redhead's pants, something hit Frank that might ruin the whole situation. Frank realized that bat shit redhead was fucking mentally disabled. Retarded. That only made Frank's pants a little tighter, because he knew it'd be easier to control him.
