so i’m taking oliver for a walk down vermont avenue for coffee and sunshine.
a fortune teller dude stops me to tell me i think too much and that’s why i don’t have a boyfriend. at first i was sure he said that i drink too much and thought, “damn, he’s really good.” but no, it was think.
he writes something down and puts in in my hand.
then he asks me how old i am, how many brothers and sisters i have and to pick a number. he reads my palm and tells me i’m going to live to 88, my love life is so-so and i’m not good at keeping money. he then points to my belly and tells me i have problems there. i assume digestive, as babies are not really my thing. so far so good.
i open the piece of paper up and it was my age, my 1 brother and my number, 3. he gives me a jewel (i assume a plastic ruby of some sort) and asks for a donation. as i have no cash, i give him the jewel back.
then he tells me if i don’t cut my hair or nails on saturday i’ll get a boyfriend.
now this has never happened to me before, but every time i get my palm read, it’s about the same thing. i’ll live a long time, never have a husband, etc etc. this is the first time, though, someone stopped to tell me.
later on, some other dude stopped me to ask for my number, but he seemed kind of homeless and creepy and had a tic like he suffered from tourette’s. i was tempted to tell him 88.
my palm, generally unremarkable.