Waiting...

I was slightly suspicious that I was the sitting duck in some elaborate reality sting, until somebody finally said my name (?). I suppose paranoia is only a natural side effect of arriving 30 minutes early to your first meeting with a shrink on W 103rd St (breaking my virgin uppers of 92nd St...if you don't count getting lost in the Bronx, trying to find my way back north to Paradise or Paper City). I don't even know how many doors opened & closed around me before I was coaxed through a threshold. It was like some Roman probability game from the dark side...waiting for your worst Night Mare (or Lion) to slink out & maul you, like some feeble, psychic gladiator...In the end, it turned out that it was a legitimate waiting room, in the right office, in the right building. I scheduled a follow-up.