The writer asked the therapist if they could be creative together. That’s what I thought I heard. It’s hard to record a conversation at a nearby table on paper in an airport bar. How do you imagine us being creative together, the therapist asked. The writer said that he hoped they could discover that through talking about uncertainties. You sound more like a therapist than a writer, the therapist said. I create fiction out of what you, therapists, do. How do you know that I’m a therapist? I recognize your face from your books. You must be interested in therapy if you’ve read my writings. Have you been in psychotherapy yourself? I haven’t left. I took a break. That was a few years ago. I don’t know when I’ll stop. I tried lying on the couch. It didn’t work for me. We sit face to face and I imagine myself on the couch, staring out the window. When I saw you at this table, I became excited, like a child. Something told me we could be creative together. And I think we have. At this point I had to stop writing. I had to board a plane to Seattle. The story makes sense, considering I wrote it in an airport bar.