1
The psychiatrist’s office was cozy and slightly dim, lit by the warm glow of a desk lamp. The walls were painted in calming, neutral shades, and the shelves held books and a few family photographs that added a touch of personal warmth to the room. A clock ticked softly on the wall, its steady rhythm enhancing the tranquil atmosphere.
Mr. Litterbag sat in a comfortable, high-backed chair, facing his psychiatrist, Mr. Robinson. Robinson sat comfortably in his own chair, with a small coffee table between them, holding a notebook, a pen, and a few books. Their conversation began as usual, just like many other sessions.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Litterbag,” Robinson began, maintaining a light, professional tone. “I see you’re in a rather good mood today.”
“Yes… that’s true. Good afternoon,” Litterbag replied with a nod.
Robinson glanced up from his notebook. “It finally happened, then?”
“Yes! She gave birth!” Litterbag said, a hint of excitement in his voice.
“My congratulations. Did you name him as you and your wife had planned?”
“No… we wanted to name him Travis, but my mother… she was very insistent that we name him Michael. She says it’s a more distinguished name for a boy in our family.”
Robinson leaned forward slightly. “And what is your mother to you?”
