Gypsy Fortune Teller

- Apophysis No Postwork -

*yes, it's long .. suffer through .. there will be a test later .. 80% of your grade

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After looking both ways you walk up to the door, turn the knob, quickly step inside and shut the door as if to prevent even the night air from making an identification. Wiping your hand on your Levi's as the tiny bells overhead continue to jingle, you allow your eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. "please hurry" you hear the left side of your brain say to the right.

The musty dusty air hangs like smoke around you and is more than you, a smoker for twenty years, can handle. A young girl, possibly 15, emerges from the curtained depths and gawks at you wide eyed, surprised that there is somebody standing there, "Mama" she says, disappearing from whence she came. While waiting for the drapes to part once more you glance around, had you known the interior view all those years driving by you wouldn't have stopped. Somehow you imagined it more .. professional .. an espresso machine, perhaps leather upholstery. Mama enters your field of view.

Motioning you to a small table, she waits while you get scooted and then sits across from you. In a heavily accented voice, breath smelling of garlic, and with very little fanfare, she asks why you have come. Why have you come? you ask yourself, reasons that were rock solid in the comfort of your penny loafers seem silly to voice in your cowboy boots. The truth is you've come to turn your life around, to right the wrongs that have made you such a loser. If, for a few paper bills spread fanlike on the table, she can give you guidance and chart your new course, then it is well worth the effort. But you're probably going to screw this up too.

Unable to lift your eyes to hers and take in the full spectacle of her years, her piercings, and her bemused countenance, you stammer out half truths and lies, making the story of your life somebody elses fault. She, on the other hand has no problem looking at you, seeing you for who you are, and, if you believe in the fortune tellers craft, seeing your very soul. With a wave of the hand she cuts you off, she has heard enough and has decided to make short work of you, her veal parmesan is getting cold, it is not her fault you failed to heed the sign 'closed between 5 - 6pm'

She states rather matter of factly, because she knows, that you are a gambler and that your salvation rides on the back of the pony "Romanian Pride" running at the 'Bay Meadows' track not far out of town, and any money that can be begged, borrowed, or stolen prior to track time would pay off tenfold, not just tomorrow, but progressively over the years. That you should place the bet at window 5 and with a gentleman named Anton was also spelled out, victory was assured. As you scurry out, visions of sugar plums dancing in your head, Mama scoops the cash from the table and places it inside her blouse, thinking of the fresh oats it would buy for her pony.

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P L E A S E ..... C O M M E N T