The young man found himself roaming through the crowd, weightless as a ghost, even with a full stomach. The childish jeers and laughter contrasted with his waking reality; he had no home.

He pictured his near future as a dead end. With that emptiness fogging his train of thought, he approached the fortune-teller's table in the present. He wanted a sense of direction even if it was a lie; he wanted anything at that moment to cling onto, to anchor him down on the solid ground.

Even if that ground were to crumble beneath him tomorrow, he needed something now.

He stood at the fridges, reading Madam Canela's divination and fortune-telling sign. He took tentative steps until he got the nerve to stride in front of her.

Up close, what he assumed was body paint looked more like detailed prosthetics; her red arms were scaly and shiny as a crocodile boot. What he thought was a mask was, to an extent, her face. The rough texture of the prosthetics behaved like actual skin staying put as she chewed, with no sign of peeling whatsoever. Her lips were non-existent, only a fine paper-thin black line serviced to indicate she even had a mouth.

It moved as she munched on her corn. Her eyes looked dark as inkwells, and her ears were nowhere in sight. Peculiar still, the upper right side of her forehead had a bump as shiny and bulbous as a boil, kind of like a horn. The little girl beside her looked normal, except her face was caked in stark white paint, making her brown eyes appear red-rimmed.

They really got creative. 

The little girl hunched over to the woman's ear, cupping her hand to whisper into it, and the woman nodded, handing off her cup of corn. Delighted, the girl took it, scarfing down the spicy treat like it was ice cream and not a burning hazard to her stomach. 

Madam Canela peered up at him with glassy amber eyes.

"Hello," she said in the type of voice that could caress and subdue any monster.

"Hi, Uhm, how much for a reading?" he pointed above her at the sign. If he was going to be the fool, he figured he might as well play the part. Every cent counted towards his survival, and here he was throwing it away on a scam. His face flushed, and he stepped back; to turn tail and run.

"Ahem."

He snapped at attention as if given a command.  

The white-painted girl pointed at another poster below the one above it. The sign advised; to give as much as your future is worth.  

He smirked. To him, his future amounted to nothing. He wondered if that would garner a laugh at his misfortune. He could use the black comedy, and having someone to share the joke with might alleviate the sting.

"Well, my future isn't worth much," he said, trying for dry wit, but came off as tired and dull.

She nodded, the contours of her craggy face taking on a solemn air. Then turning to glance up, she gave a mischievous grin. "Then take a gamble on yourself since no one else will."

He fished out a quarter. He placed the coin down, hoping his luck would change with what little he had to offer.

She snatched the coin up and flipped it off to the fairy girl. The girl dashed behind a curtain tent only to return carrying a glass ashtray, a wooden case, and velvet cloth in her spindly arms.

Doña Canela unfurled the velvet on the table, and the girl, in turn, placed down the box and crystal tray. She opened the box and pulled out the instruments inside; a cigar-cutter, a cigar, and a deck of cards. She lit up her spirits and spread the cards while the girl came around and nudged him gently forward.

"Sit," she said, puffing on her cigar.

As he sat, the little girl placed her hands on his shoulders. Her tiny fingers pressed through the fabric of his windbreaker, making his skin crawl.

 Standing too close for his comfort, she whispered into his ear.

"What is your name?"

He was sure she asked and whispered; that did not translate as such in his mind's eye. His ears rang as her words morphed into a command. And her hushed whisper rose into high-pitched ringing. His pulse quickened, he meant to jerk away from the brat's grasp, but he could only manage to slump forward, and his eyes drooped. He opened his mouth to click his jaw but spoke in a hollow dull voice that seemed to echo around him, "I don't know yet."

"Hey," Doña Canela snapped, her sweet melodic voice turning gruff. "You," She snapped her fingers at him, pulling him out of his stupor. He blinked once, twice to focus his blurry vision. "Don't answer that, and you," she pointed a sharp steel-colored nail at the twerpish girl. "Get me more corn, go on, off with you. Shoo."

She scrunched up her nose and flicked her hand, hitting him with a scrap of paper that fluttered at his feet. He ducked down and picked up the debris. Before he could return the favor and fling it back at her, she was stomping off in a huff, with her glitter not far behind.

"Don't mind her. She's just homesick." Doña Canela took a satisfying drag and sighed. "Poor thing, can't keep her mind off mind games."

"Yeah," he said, examining the tarot card and pocketing it. He rubbed his ears to clear the fuzziness out of them. Not understanding any of it, he returned to the business. His future. From his point of view, his future; was not worth the twenty-five cents he invested. But he was in a generous mood and figured Dona Canela needed the business.

"Now, what is your name?"

"I-" he cleared his throat and tried again. "I haven't settled on one. Do you need it?"

"No. I don't, but you do. It'll help give you an accurate reading," she blew out smoke forming perfect circles.

"Uhm, can I use a placeholder for now?"

"Sure," she wafted her cigar, breaking off a tip of ash, "why not."

"I-" he hesitated and tried again, "Samson."

"Well then, Samson, what would you like to know?"

"I want to know where I will go from here."

She nodded, shuffling the cards for a few minutes, satisfied. She placed the deck in the center of the table and took a long drag of her cigar. She blew, sending a plume of smoke that obscured her face but not her dark eyes that peeked out like black pebbles. She took Samson's hands and placed them on the deck. She pressed her surprisingly soft palms over his as she mumbled while bowing her head.

He realized she was making a small prayer. Before he could ask if he should partake, she released her grip and opened her eyes, which now flashed vibrantly like tiger eye stones.

"Now, I want you to cut the deck using your left hand and place the deck in front of you," she said.

He nodded, following her instructions.

She picked up the bottom deck, placed the other deck to the side, and distributed three rows of cards.

"Now then, you said you wanted to know where you're going from here, correct?" she flipped the first card over.  

"Yeah, I need some direction in my life."

"I didn't ask you that, dear," she placed a card down and flicked the end of her cigar, letting ash pepper the velvet tablecloth. "I mean do you know where you'd like to go?"

He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. He ran his hand through his shaggy hair, noting he needed a haircut and a shower. Where should I go? He shrugged, batting away the smoke and questioning, "I don't know. Any direction."

"If you don't like where you are, you could always leave anywhere you please." 

He peered down at each card as she flipped them over, "Is that what my fortune is showing?" 

She grinned up at him through heavy lashes. Examining the spread, she said, "No, just my word of advice from experience." She shrugged, meeting his gaze, and said, "The cards are going to show me your state of mind." 

"And how is my mind?"

"Miserable," she stated, tapping at a particular card at the left of him. 

He frowned, crossing his arms. He slouched further in his seat.  

"Are you happy where you are now?" 

"Uhm. No," he admitted reluctantly, trying to smother a cough.

She nodded. "The five of swords implies unexpected losses, and this card represents your state of mind, so you either lost something important, or you feel lost." She flipped the next card, "nine of cups reversed," she clicked her tongue, "hmph." 

Resting his hands on the table, he leaned in and said, "is that good or bad?" 

"When upright, yes. It can mean wishes coming true after rough times, heartbreak for example, but in reverse, the card can have two interpretations."

"Kay. What are they?" 

She flipped the next card over and the last one at the top. "Queen of cups upright and two of pentacles reversed," she said and leaned back in her chair to stretch while munching her cigar.  

 The crackle of her joints made him flinch, and she grunted. Maybe she dislocated something. 

She rubbed her neck, moving it from side to side. "You need to appreciate what you have now, plant seeds, have patience, and wait for your success. Make plans and put effort into your plans. You need to take action now to get whatever goals you have in the works." 

"Uh, how does that apply to me? I don't have any plans, and I asked where to go." 

She squinted at him; her brow bone furrowed. "And I'm showing you that you will find direction, just not here," she tapped the table, which was dusted with ashes. "Queen of Cups can represent a potential love or female friend." 

"Uh-huh," he said. His stomach churned and bubbled from the spicey corn, reminding him there would be a reckoning for him. 

 "And with two of pentacles alongside it can represent exchanges of letters, friendship, and social engagements, it can denote travel for pleasure or business endeavors," she said.

He should have opted out of the chamoy paste; then again, he liked spice. He wondered where the nearest restroom was. Wait... did they even set ones up here?

She eyed him through smoke and said, "are you high?"

"Huh? Yeah, no, I'm listening?" he said 

"Are you alright you look worried about something?" 

"I- yeah, I'm um, sorry, I don't know why I'm here," He fiddled with the card that the fairy girl had flicked at him. Immersed in the woman's words, he had forgotten he snatched up the card in the first place. Turning the card over, he saw the image of a young man wrapped in a sash and holding a staff. He held it out to her to take back.

She blinked at him, "oh, a wild card." 

"Can it be part of the reading?" he handed the card back. 

Tacking it back, she examined the card and glanced back at him. Her eyes shifted from black to gold and back to black again. The light must have reflected off her eyes, giving the illusion they flickered. It must have been the lights. What else would it be? 

She placed the card down on the spread. "Ah well, depending on what you are looking for, you'll either have a new friend, lover, or enemy." She shrugged, "maybe all three." Taking another drag, she elaborated further. "The card can represent a missed opportunity when reversed, but placed upright can represent a dark-haired man. Usually, a young man. Could be a conman in business and a flatterer, but a loyal friend and lover. Might also be rich in knowledge or wealth." 

He pursed his lips and nodded.

"And a faithful admirer." She pointed to the queen of cups card, "might steal your girlfriend there." 

"I'm single and not looking at the moment. I'm more concerned with my home life."  

Nodding, she kissed the air-blowing circles that floated above her head. "Understandable. Why are you so concerned?" 

"I left home… for reasons." 

She raised an eyebrow at his hesitation.  

He leaned back to slouch, bringing his arms to cross. "And now," he scratched his chin. "I might have to live on the streets," he swallowed the metallic aftertaste of shame as he strained to keep his guard up. Maybe if he slouched further into his seat, he'd find a place to swallow him up.

She took a sweet drag on that cigar of hers. 

Sam blinked as his eyes watered again, probably from the smoke. At least he liked to pretend so. Their gazes met between the bellows of ether. 

Her black eyes peeked out like shiny wet pebbles. "Then I recommend you meet new people."

"What if they don't like me for who I am?" 

She shrugged, "then learn to give off a better impression."

He snorted and swallowed the copper taste in his mouth. An unfortunate reminder that he left behind his toothbrush. Clicking his tongue, he ran over the list of things he abandoned, which was a lot. He left behind precious material objects that held sentimental value to him, like his worn cassette games with controllers that would leave bruises on his thumbs from overuse. He abandoned his collection of flimsy comic books that he read and reread to replicate the artist's style. He left his art award, a plaque from his sophomore year of high school, and the only academic achievement he brought home as he barely managed to pass that year because he sketched a lot. 

Doña Canela tapped her finger, "you'll have fun if you try to meet new people."

A slight breeze carried away the fog of nicotine which helped him breathe in the cool autumn air and reminded him he had left a warm bed and roof over his head. The slight chilly breeze bit his cheeks. He scooted forward, leaning into the smoky vapors; he welcomed the tobacco stench. "Guess I could try, but I honestly don't know where to start. I grew up here but mostly kept to myself to avoid trouble." 

"Don't you have friends your age?" 

"I used to have friends, but um," he sighed, rubbing the back of his tender neck. He ran his hand through his scalp to find remnants of chipped glass. He flicked it aside. Had he injured himself climbing out the window this afternoon? "I mean, you know when you're a kid? You'll make friends with anybody and everybody and not judge them unless they don't meld with you. Well, I was like that, really social, but I ran into the wrong group and after that... now I keep to myself. Safer that way."

"Ah," she nodded, "I see then you're the cautious type, huh?"

"Yeah, I-"

"My advice won't do you any good then," she said as the lights danced in her eyes again.

He eyeballed her. Distracted by her strange eyes, his mouth went dry. It's just the light in her eyes, nothing more. He swallowed and said, "I-I don't know what you mean?" 

She puffed on her cigar, setting the tip to bright orange. She took her time inhaling the nicotine and exhaled rings of smoke. She flicked her pink tongue over her thin black lips, which put him at ease. At least it wasn't a forked tongue.

 "You came to me asking for direction because, in your own words, you don't know where to go from here. Well, I told you where to go; it's where there are new people, strangers, that don't know your past, the old you." She set her gold eyes on him, holding him in place.

 "I-I don't know where to go, and I don't know anyone who could help me," he croaked, blaming his hoarseness on the smoke inhalation.

She pointed to the queen of cups with her free hand. "Then find somewhere new and meet new people. You either take a gamble on yourself or don't. You won't lose anything if you don't try, but you won't gain anything either," she said, snuffing out the remainder of her cigar.