36. The answer to your question, Mr. Bond, is often

Dr. Edwards.

Sandy looked at his nameplate again to make sure she remembered who he was.  He looked vaguely familiar, but it could have just been the look of boredom that seemed so common to all the doctors she’d seen at this particular clinic.

He pushed a large bottle of pills across the table.  “I want you to take these whenever you feel bitchy.”

“That would be most of the time.”

“We aim to fix that.”

Dr. Edwards had, ten minutes before ushered Sandy into his office, flipped quickly through her ever-growing file, and decided to on a medication.  First appointments should be longer, of course, but his case load was vast, his time significantly less vast, and his patience was at an end.  If she had a problem with it, he was sure she would say something.

Instead, she slipped the bottle of pills into her purse, thanked him for his time, and left.

Later, if given to reflection, he might realize that the medication he gave her was not meant for her condition, but even then, he would just figure she’d be back for something different in a week or so.   There really wasn’t time to do more than that.

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