The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Eight Sounds Salmon

A bit surprising to see a gypsy loose on the strip. But she seemed authentic. She had the layered skirt made from various bright materials, the puffy sleeve blouse, headscarf knotted at the back, coins dangling everywhere. And she was amazingly nimble. You usually don't see such a weathered face round here without a walker but she moved towards me with the confident stride of a twenty year old. With a cigarette planted in the corner of her mouth while she spoke she sounded a bit like Jean Chretien.

"I saw what happened. I can't believe you're still alive."

"No, I think I'm o.k. Lucky I guess."

Taking me at my word she reached down, grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. Fortunately, she didn't hurt anything. She was surprisingly strong for an old gypsy.

"How d'ya feel?"

I ran a quick check and couldn't find a loose nut or bolt anywhere. In fact I couldn't feel anything at all. It was more a complete absence of feeling. Dreamlike. Quite pleasant, actually.

"Amazingly good. I'd recommend the experience."

"Thanks but no thanks." she said through twisting lips, "Follow me."

She turned and headed into the Psychic Reading slash Chakra Clinic. I couldn't think of any reason not to so I did.

When I was a kid we used to have this framed needlepoint hung conspicuously on a wall in the foyer of our house. The bold letters on top read,

GOD BLESS THIS HOME

and at the bottom the immortal ditty,

'Leave cares and woes outside the door.

We ain't got no money but we ain't poor.'

In the middle was a dark blue hobo shouldering a bindle. He's looking back, waving and smiling as he steps through a door frame over a welcome mat. Hadn't thought about it in years. Long since confined to the basement where we hid all my parents abundant aesthetic horrors. As I walked in there it was, hanging on the far wall, an exact copy. Even had the same black frame. My first time in this temple dedicated to the fraudulent exploitation of superstitious belief and I already felt right at home. Like pulling on an old pair of slippers. What the hell! Gift horse.

"Down this way," the gypsy shouted.

That way was a narrow hall to the right. At the end was an open door to the left. Inside was a tent. It filled the whole room. It smelled like Egyptian cotton. Hadn't seen that material in years. Since my parents semi-disastrous camping trips. She was sitting in a folding chair behind a card table, dead center, another empty seat facing. Apart from that the tent room was completely empty and seemed to be strangely self-illuminated. The golden glow of a Coleman lantern that wasn't there. 

"Come, sit," she said motioning to the empty folding chair.

I walked over and sat down. The card table was covered with a Rummoli mat. There was a big glass ash tray brimming with smoking detritus on one side. On the other a small box. She reached over and grabbed it. I recognized it right away. It contained a deck of Tarot cards. The Rider deck no less. I used that same set for awhile myself back in university. Pretended to tell fortunes as a scam to get laid. It wasn't in my future.

As she pulled the cards out of the box she started to explain how she was going to do the reading. Start with a significator card, blah, blah, blah. With your hair color and eyes you're a King of Swords, blah, blah, blah. Too complicated to explain that I already knew all this shit. Besides, I had drifted off completely. The whole thing was a little strange but what the hell, I had just survived getting hit by a truck and now I felt better than I had in ages. No bubble. No gloom. Nothing. Literally nothing. Couldn't help reveling in it. It was like breathing pure, sweet oxygen. A minor miracle. Just wanted it to last and last.

"O.k., that's interesting." She placed a card face up at ninety degrees across the king.