Turns out, this therapist doesn't have a couch. She's got two of hellishly
uncomfortable chairs and she won't even let Sam put her feet up on the
desk.
Heh. Now Freddie's got dirt in his lap.
The rest of it's not comfortable, either, except the leaving part. They don't even talk about
anything therapy-like, they just lay out some schedule. She's barely listening,
she hates having to be in a certain place at a certain time. Except dinner.
Something about individual & group sessions, she takes that to mean Freddie
has one day a week to complain about her nonstop. Whatever.