Get Melfi on the phone

It’s no wonder that Tony Soprano is seeing a psychologist. I spent the night wracked with guilt over the message I’d sent to the team.

I’ve become the kind of man I always hated.

“You look terrible.” Barney, the Big Gay Bear, who sits on my right hand, was concerned.

“I didn’t sleep well.” I paused, bit my lip in contemplation and said, “Barney…”

“Yes?”

“Have the team been talking about my memo?”

“Oh that. Nobody pays any attention to memos from the managers. You’ve been on one all week – are you ok? You should take a break if you have been tossing all night.” Barney grinned.

Bleedin’ hell – here am I, trying to redefine my image, grow in stature and power - the team think I’m under the weather and have sympathy for me.

Va fa napole!