The Greenish liquid looked ugly. The small bottle was given to him by some filthy hobo after he gave him some loose change when he saw him in the alley near his house as he came home from school. He only wanted the man to go away.
“This is the answer to all your problems.” The man had said.
“How would this bottle solve my problems?” Jim had enquired, surprised that his coins actually reaped something in return.
“You’ll see, just spray it sparingly on yourself.”
Date: January 4
To: Dr. R. Anniston
From: John D. Connors
RE: Essay/Letter For The Friday Night Group Session
Dear Dr. Anniston,
As per your request, and as required by my parole officer, I am writing to you to tell you of the events that led up to this writing. At the outset, let me reiterate that I am doing this under protest. The best way that I can explain all of this is to write it in story form so I can keep the events straight.
It began two years ago when I was sixteen. I was living my life of semi-normalcy just fine. Then it happened, as an accident, I think.
I have three sisters, a mother and a dog. Dad left when he 'found out' that he was as queer as a three-dollar bill. Now there is the one you need in these sessions instead of me.