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Neuroses
O.: I'm hearing strange things.
T.: Voices?
O.: No. Things.
T.: Such as?
O.: Don't talk to me like a psychiatrist.
T.: I'm not!
O.: You are, too. You're all clinical and (censored).
T.: Fine. I'm not a psychiatrist, and you're not a patient.
O.: I know I'm not a patient.
T.: Right.
O.: There's nothing wrong with me.
T.: Correct.
O.: I'm absolutely fine.
T.: Tip-top.
O.:
T.:
O.: Except I'm hearing strange things.
T.: Voices?
O.: No. I already said that. Things. Just things.
T.: What kind of things?
O.: Stop it!
T.: I wasn't talking all clinical and (censored) just then.
O.: Well, I feel like you are, so stop it.
T.: Fine.
O.:
T.: So what are you hearing?
O.: Things.
T.:
O.: Like weird things.
T.:
O.: Like airplanes. When there aren't any airplanes.
T.:
O.: And sometimes I hear people shucking corn. Except I'll be in Macy's or something when I hear it.
T.: That's odd.
O.: Stop!
T.: Everything I say, you think I'm a doctor.
O.: You act like one, that's why.
T.: I do not.
O.: With that white lab coat you always wear and all.
T.: This is a jacket!
O.: Right. Why the big shiny mirror thing on your forehead, then?
T.: It's for seeing in dark places!
O.: It's two in the afternoon.
T.: Stop talking to me like I'm crazy.
O.: Well, if the shoe fi --
T.: I'm not crazy!
O.: Wait, do you hear that?
T.: (sobs)
O.: I hear an animal in a trash can.
T.: I'm not crazy.
O.: Oh, my God. It's a front-end loader. In the basement.
T.: (sobs)
O.: (screams)
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