The room is decorated in what I suppose is standard fortune-teller décor. A red scarf is draped over the fringed shade of a floor lamp. A tall glass étagère displays an impressive collection of crystals. At the window, a pair of dusty-gold brocade silk curtains held back with tassels lend the space a certain shabby glamour, as do the throw rugs on the wood floor that are worn in spots but still elegant.
Several framed and incomprehensible astrological charts adorn the walls, along with a quote from Henry David Thoreau: “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
Next to the Thoreau quote hangs a vaguely disturbing portrait of Jesus with an open chest cavity exposing his bloody, thorn-encrusted heart. His eyes are turned beseechingly heavenward.
I sit at the table, inhal
