There is a stench in the air
Aged cigarette smoke, maybe
Soaked into ancient walls of oak
Or is it pine?
The patter of rain on the thin roof above
Dark figures in frames
One on each wall
What is this place?
A single candle illuminates the room
It sits upon a coffee table in the center
Made of teak
I think
I can hear a pencil on paper
A face shows in the candlelight
It looks up towards me
“Time’s up.”
The therapist says