Five-thirty PM snowflakes brighten the darkening Minneapolis skyline through Shoua’s eighteenth floor windows. My therapist—a Hmong woman with a grounded sentimentality and a heavenly face that looks younger than her graying hair suggests—insists I call her by first name. This is the hour I look forward to every week. And I’ve done my homework:
Dark Horse
Dark Horse
Dark Horse
Five-thirty PM snowflakes brighten the darkening Minneapolis skyline through Shoua’s eighteenth floor windows. My therapist—a Hmong woman with a grounded sentimentality and a heavenly face that looks younger than her graying hair suggests—insists I call her by first name. This is the hour I look forward to every week. And I’ve done my homework: