The zodiac was ringed with a neon circle. The glass had silhouettes of Istanbul’s Blue Mosque painted below listings of services like tarot and palmistry.
By the door on the corner storefront on Western Avenue there was a gigantic painting of a hand, marked with all the creases and folds, bracelets and mounts the woman inside would use to tell who you are, where you’ve been, where you’re going and what will happen.
And beyond the stars, moons, neon eyes and other psychic emblems of this TARDIS-blue storefront, the mystic sat in a chair immediately behind the glass doorway, waving me in.
“All right,” I thought. “Let’s do this.” » Read the rest of this entry «