She was driving along Woodward Ave. when her mind told her to make a right turn, two blocks before she was supposed to. Weaving through Craftsman-style bungalows and Victorian mansions with white pillars, she found herself on a beautiful, little street. Her car plunkered around until her coffee-colored eyes found themselves staring at a dismal building with two shops: one empty and one open. The open shop had a green-and-pink neon sign that displayed the word 'PSYCHIC' in the window. What she was doing in that part of town is not to be known, nor to to be understood is the question of why she left an animal, particularly a scruffy-and-likes-to-bite dog in her window, her back passenger window. "He was a gift," she told me. All he was good for was to bark and slobber over an orange-and-brown blanket on her seat

She made her way inside the shop, the clink of her black satin shoes kicked at the cement ground.  I remember her telling me that she looked both ways before making her way into the shop. Please don't ask me what she had on that day, I cannot remember. But the young woman found herself walking through the glass door and standing face-to-face with the psychic woman. What the psychic woman looked like, that I cannot recall either.

What I do know is that the young woman was completely naive, trusting a stranger and a pack of cards to dictate her future. Trusting in those little pictures over the word of God. Still, I kind of understand where she is coming from.