““I’m not thinking anything” Harry House said, which was not completely true, as he was thinking that the laundry room must have changed detergents because his clothes weren’t making him itch today. The light blue pajama pants and pullover shirt usually tortured him, but not today, and he looked at the doctor and said, “I’m not itching.” The skinny man brought his body forward and put his elbows on his desk. “This is good, itching? Itching to what? You’re not itching to what?” Harry knew the man... wanted to hear him say that he was not itching to bash in his face or not itching to scale the wall and disappear into the poor black neighborhood on the other side. “My body isn’t itching. I think they changed soaps in the laundry. Do you ever get that? You know, when your skin is so sensitive to stuff?” The doctor’s face fell, the disappointment couldn’t have been more obvious, though he tried to mask it and move on. “Are you still keeping a journal?” “Of sorts.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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