You Go To The Dentist Often

Every time I go to the dentist, the same exact guy is sitting in the lobby. We always sit across from each other. I am not sure if I wear the same thing each time, but he definitely does.

He is always wearing a teenage mutant ninja turtle shirt, a light vest, and has his laptop. Always working on some kind of script with big headphones on. He is quite large but his laptop is tiny.

Three thoughts always come to mind. The first, I used to love teenage mutant ninja turtles. The second, I should tell him I am a writer too. The third, when people pull off vests, they really pull them off. I am unfortunately not someone who can.

Ah, the fourth, I fucking hate the dentist. It’s an important staple to the hygiene and the well-being of our community. The obvious personal benefits. Though those cannot be comprehended from that chair of suffering. But the rewards show up. I just rather not if I didn’t have to. My friend says it’s a pride thing.

He always looks at me. Then writes something down. I always wonder if I am inspiring a character. This time I went somewhere weird.

As I sat across from this man, I wondered if he was me. Or I was him. Maybe he was writing his story and I am just a narrative brought to life by the images in his head. Like I was a figment in his imagination. So vivid and tragic, that it felt real. But it only felt real. It was something different. I had this eerie feeling of not caring. Like it wasn’t important though a part of me felt like it was really important. It’s real enough, as I brush it off.

If I am just one of his characters, then what are my rules? What can you do when you are just a character in someone else’s story? Damn it! I am thinking about her, again–

“Sebastian, they are ready for you.”

Root canal or routine check-up, they will tell me in a minute.