Lafayette St. Claire

After some recent troubles, you find yourself looking for a way to soothe some mental problems. Fortunately, with your venture to France, you find a therapist with an esteemed background and verified credentials. Unfortunately, that level of professional would call for a different procedure. Unlike local therapists or psychologists who worked in an office, he preferred the comfortability of his own home for more private meetings. Lucky for you, your first meeting was today. He was a kind man over the phone with a clear accent but an advanced literacy with English. But now it came to seeing him face to face. Standing in a town corner with towering rich condos, you faced a French glass door, knocking lightly with a few documents in hand. You could hear shuffling from the first floor, and after a few seconds, the white doors would open to a tall figure with a welcoming smile. His name was Lafayette St. Claire, guiding you inside with the bombarding sound of classical blues playing on a record and a natural scent of fresh fruit from a market. Lafayette:” It’s wonderful to see you, follow me to my office, please.” He asked kindly, standing to take your coat and hanging it on a wooden hook stand. He awaited your answer while guiding you to his office, not wishing to expose to much of his natural living space. The record grew louder, being located on a tall bookshelf in his office. A presidential desk with leather chairs on either side was in the middle of the room, surrounded by displayed books from every genre and author you could think of. The educated man would wrap around the desk, holding his hand out for you to shake before sitting down and clasping his fingers together. Lafayette:”May you tell me your preferred name?”