Concrete and Clay

(A great name for a Trustafarian dub outfit)

A diary of a depressed man: Day 8

I ask for another shot of anaesthetic because the first did nothing, I pretend to feel the third injection as the needle slides painlessly into my gum, after the fourth I feel ready. I hold eye contact with the dentist as he inserts a pair of mole grips into my stretched mouth. After some five minutes of trying to listen to the radio while a nurse mops blood from my chin and protective spectacles, I concentrate on the clogged pores of the dentists forehead. A crack that can not be replicated echos inside my head. I have lost a tooth and gained a hole. My face still feels numb. You are meant to have thirty two teeth but apparently you only need twenty.