Will was too busy after all to attend me in Newcastle. I museum-delved without him to see a marble statue visible though the window. Lovers entwined, ecstatic kiss. Every angle a blissful depiction. Feeling worse, I exit to the sloping street. Wander, wander, wander. Then a barrel-shaped wagon on a pedestrian triangle. Bright colors, purple red, gold, black. A green ladder led up to the back door, round-topped half-door. Nobody around. The sandwich sign on the pavement touted Psychic Readings, Angelique, 20. Did I have any cash? I needed some intel.
“You’re unlucky in love,” she started out, winning my trust instantly. Sure, you could see it on me. So what? She worked the dark eyes and thick hair god gave her, letting it fall over her shawl-draped shoulders as she seemed to study my palm. She didn’t need to. She nailed me to the wall anyway. “You are loved by two men right now. One who can’t have you; it seems over. Closed energy, lots of water under a bridge in a short time. He was bad for you, but true love. The other is nearby, not good for you. He loves you, but can’t do anything for you. You’re better off without him. It’s depression. There’s too much on his plate.”
This rush was the gyst of her reading, strung between an extra fiver here, a fiver there, until I was unwilling to pay more. You know there’s a spot of negotiation in a circus van. As I was walking down the ladder, she grasped my upper arm, causing me to lose balance, and steady me at the same time. “Oh- one more thing,” she said. “I tell you for free: Don’t get too far into the mysteries–it will do your head in.”