Was walking in Jackson Square this afternoon, past all of the street performers and random tourists. Oh, and the homeless people the tourists thought were street performers.
As I walked, I felt someone grab my left wrist. I turned, and saw it was a tiny old black lady at a folding table. She had Tarot cards set up in front of her.
"You. Sit down."
It wasn't a request.
"I started picking up something from you the moment you walked into the square," she told me, shuffling cards. "Don't even need the cards to see it."
"Oh, yeah?" I asked, shifting in my seat.
"Yeah. You're bringing something bad, girl. Something evil. You're bringing it to this city."
"What?" I coughed.
"What'd we ever do to you, anyway?" she growled.
"I'm sorry, I don't --"
"You need to meet with Ronan. Today. St. Louis Cemetary. Go now," she said, rising from the table slowly.
"I --"
"Go!" she screamed.
So I went. Don't know who Ronan is, or why I have to meet him, but that woman scared me. A lot. She looked like she wanted to beat the crap out of me, but she didn't intimidate me physically. Something else about her. . .
I don't know. But here I am, waiting.
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