by Roger Noons
a glass of Cava
I sneaked a look into the tent. The man was dressed like a character in a pantomime. Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves came to mind. He appeared to be asleep.
‘Come inside,’ a voice said. ‘It’s quiet, you can have a consultation for half price.’
I looked at the woman, charmed by her generous smile which spread to her eyes. ‘Which is?’
‘Oh … ten pounds. That all right?’
‘Will you do it?’
She looked at the man. ‘Looks like I will.’
I followed her to a corner table, where we sat opposite each other. A Chrystal ball and a pack of cards were within her reach.
‘When is your birthday?’
‘So you’re Libra?’
She leaned forward and stared into my eyes. ‘Your name is Michael.’ I gasped. ‘And you’re forty seven.’ My mouth dropped open. It was her turn to nod. ‘May I take your hand?’
She spread my palm, traced the lines with a crimson finger nail. ‘You are classic Libra. Kind, gentle, a lover of beauty, harmony and peace. You’re co-operative, diplomatic, gracious, you like the outdoors and dislike violence. Liking harmony, you find it difficult to say “no.” You’re romantic and loyal. ’
‘All that is correct,’ I said. ‘Are those typical traits of someone born on the thirteenth?’
‘Pretty much so, why?’
‘Because I share a birthday with Margaret Thatcher.’
Her lips tightened. ‘I cannot be right all the time. Ten pounds please,’ she directed, showing me her palm.
About the author
Roger Noons is a regular contributor to Cafe Lit.
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