Graham Moiselle waits in line like everybody else. He’s not an eejit. He doesn’t usually ask anything from anyone. He’s not looking for trouble. He just wants to be heard.

Ordinarily, he would respect the allotted time and be content to receive his helium balloon at the end, which is forbidden to prick, releasing the atoms via lips, due to health and safety regs, it should simply serve as a token of buoyancy post-analysis, but today the allotted time is not enough, today he finds himself falling short on every level, there, he said it, and Janine Dankworth, your allotted therapist for today, because it says so on her badge, says she’s not the one who decides, it’s the powers that be, and she taps the surveillance camera above her asymmetrical bob.

There’s a hybrid Jeep behind and it’s honking, and Janine Dankworth makes reference to said honking and taps the watch on her wrist, and Graham Moiselle wishes the world were made up of individuals beyond the ambit of clocks, not species like Janine Dankworth with her resounding ticks and ready-made answers, or Larry Jones in the Jeep behind him who he’ll be sharing a cell with due to the drive-thru booth smash-up, as well as damage to his own car and that of two retractable bollards, not to mention the small shard of glass which will unintentionally perforate Janine Dankworth’s temple, but kind people with two attentive ears and a mind hellbent on wending through you, windows down, to pull up at your very core.