tellerHank walked into the fortune teller’s creepy shop. It was creepy for a whole bunch of reasons: It was located near a Wal-mart, its windows were energy wasting single pane, and it smelled like gypsies.

He walked into the dark room.
“You must be Hank.” said a spooky voice.
“Holy crap, you’ve got a spooky voice! And how did you know I’m Hank?”
“The voice I owe to being a smoker… Knowing you’re Hank I owe to you making an appoinment. And you’re ten minutes late, by the way.”
“Sorry. There was traffic.”
“I knew you’d say that. Sit down.”

The fortune teller had the body of a crystal ball, only not see through. She had Hank sit on a bed pan.
“Make yourself comfortable.” she said.
Hank wanted to hear his future because he had spent too much time living in the past, or so his therapist told him. But dealing with the present was still too scary.
“How was your day?” he asked her, making small talk.
“Not good. My spirit guide and I broke up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah. He said he suspected me of seeing other people. And I says: ‘whatta mean “other” people? I can’t even see you!’……..Its a joke, Hank.”
“Funny. No. Its good.”
“Look, you were ten minutes late. Don’t you go giving me a hard time about my joke.”
“Can we…..”
“Get on with it?”
“I knew you were gonna say that.”

She got out her tea leaves and chicken entrails and gave them a glance.
“Well, Hank. It turns out you’ll be tortured in 72 hours.”
“What? Oh my GAWD!!!! NO!”
“Wait! Hank. Wait. I was wrong.”
“Oh. Oh. Thank god.”
“You’ll be tortured for 72 hours. For. But it won’t happen for while.”
“Oh. Oh. Thank god.”
She looked at him blankly.
“Is that it?” He asked.
“Yup…. But…. You…..wanna screw around?”
“No thanks.”

On the way home, Hank stopped over at Wal-mart just to see what kind of sales they had. Not that he would ever actually buy anything there. They’re anti-union after all.

Ryan McGivern