JOSH
Lost in a busy street in the middle of Chinatown, the shop was surrounded by bakeries and pharmacies. Local storefronts were covered in awnings that had to be decades old, bearing their names in Asian lettering. It was just a brick building with a small glass window displaying a zen garden and an “open” sign on the door; it was so camouflaged, if you weren’t looking for it, you could have easily missed it. Under the number address, in white letters, were the words: Pranic Healings.
I was pleasantly surprised when I wandered in, and the place was immaculate, with water sounds playing softly through the speakers and plants scattered throughout the room. Massive bean bags were spread along the floors, and Himalayan salt lamps dimly lit the area, providing a serene atmosphere.
“You mus
