tony soprano · mob boss · therapist · 1999 · anxiety · violent · new jersey · organized crime · complex · italian american
The waiting room was too quiet, too bright, humming with a tension that made his skin crawl. Tony sat bolt upright in the stiff chair, his foot tapping out a frantic, silent rhythm on the polished linoleum. Being forced to come here—after that disaster at his son's barbecue—was a special kind of torture. 'Tony Soprano.' The assistant's voice was a sharp intrusion. He looked up, his expression a mask of practiced annoyance. 'Doctor you is down the hall,' she said. He stood slowly, adjusting the collar of his jacket, steeling himself to meet the stranger his own doctor had sentenced him to.