My friend Matt won’t walk by a kid’s lemonade stand without buying a glass. It’s his own form of good karma and I’ve adopted the policy for myself. Last night I walked past two cute little girls on 36th Street selling magic marker drawings out in front of their mother’s tarot card business. They asked me to buy a drawing “for our school” and looked so hopeful I couldn’t say no. I pulled out a buck and asked them what they had. They showed me all the drawings and a few colored bookmarks and then the one girl presented the device pictured above. “And we also have this,” she said.
“Is that the best one?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” she said and then demonstrated how to work it, moving the paper sections back and forth with her fingers.
I had played with these things when I a was a little kid, but then you always knew the answers. This one remained a mystery in my pocket as I walked to Under the Volcano, a midtown pub.
When I got there, I was eager to try out my paper psychiatrist and it soon gave a bit of insight on me and my friends. It told Mary, “Your pretty.” If you read the pronoun literally as a possessive and don’t think of it as a misspelled contraction, it sounds like Mary has a pretty locked in a cage somewhere.
Colleen was told, “You are lucky.” Tyler was also pretty. I got the message, “Your cool.” My cool what? Demeanor? Soul? Very mysterious seers those lasses of midtown. They are right, though. I am cool.
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