Yesterday people told me things, all manner of things, and I listened.
There was an account of a planned suicide by pistol, that was cut off at the pass, as it were. There were two separate incidences of rape. There was a recounting of high-school years as a drug addict, and the subsequent recovery. There were Zulu warriors at a public ceremony.
I thought: this is what it must feel like to be a therapist.