My Cardboard Balcony

Fortune Teller by Belinda Roddie Give me your hand, and I will see the cracks in your screaming destiny. My eyes are black - they do not lie. Your past is underwater, your future in the sky.

"Ninety-seven percent of scientists agree about this, Sean." "Well, ninety-seven percent of scientists can suck my d - " The rest of the word was, to my relief, blocked out by the roar of his enormous motorcycle, and he screeched away, laughing, leaving the smell of diesel in my nose and a tickle in my throat. I sighed, picked up my magazine, and skimmed through out. Outside, it was ninety degrees on a March afternoon.