Reading Between The Palms

It’s the 16th of the month. That means my favorite client is about to walk through that front door any minute. In my line of work of fortune-telling, every client must get an accurate reading, an honest feeling from their palms. Oh…here he is. His name is Paul, and I think he’s a nice guy. He’s about 5’8-5’9 in height, light brown eyes, and blondish-brown hair that’s swept over to the right ever so perfectly. His eyebrows are medium-thick, telling his eyes they are here to save the day. His nose is crafted beautifully with nostrils flared, and his ears only stick out a little. His mouth smiles, even when he’s not trying, and his facial hair is light above his lip, but thick sideburns hug his face. My favorite part about him physically is his hands. They are consistently smooth, and it’s the one part of him I get to touch. When I trace my finger down the lines in his palm, I want to moan. Okay, so I’m in love with the guy. But you would be too if you breathed in five seconds of his handsomeness.
Today, he’s wearing a white button-up shirt, and purple tie and my eyes are guilty of fixating on his muscular definition. I assume by his attire and timing of appointment that he’s on a lunch break at work. I learned that he’s an attorney in an office building a block away from my residence. I was surprised to see an attorney come to me for spiritual guidance and to return once a month. He wants me.
“Paul, It’s good to see you!” I want to hug him, but my professionalism stops me.
“Let’s take a seat, shall we?” I lead him to the back room, where I like to make all of my predictions. I used to have a table near one of the front windows, but some of the kids downtown would cause distractions during the experience. One kid specifically would lit his shirt up and rub his prepubescent chest across the glass.
We sit down across from each other, he lays his hands out, facing up as my hands cradle them. I give importance to his right hand and being interpreting the heart line on his palm. His palm line begins below the index finger, “I see a healthy love life. Are you seeing anyone?” Part of me sees someone’s presence, and another part of me wants to know if I have competition.
He bites his lip when smiling, “There has been someone I’ve been talking to for a while now.”
My eyebrows raise, “That’s interesting. Would you say you see this person every day, or every week, or every month?”
“What?” He looks rightfully perplexed.
I pull back the reins, “What I mean is seeing and talking to this individual every day…I envision conflict and turmoil. Someone that you see every month…there’s a bright future there.
There’s an awkward silence in the room, and there’s only one way I know how to create a diversion.
“Let’s move onto the headline.” I trace the line slowly, and it’s relatively similar to last month: a straight line. He’s structured and thinks realistically, and realistically, he could be with me.
“I see you’ve been performing well at work.” That gorgeous smile lights up the room, “Yes, I just won my last case.”
“Congratulations. Continue what you’ve been doing, and you may even see a raise or promotion in your future.”
“More money is always nice.”
I nod in agreement and begin losing myself in thought. Why do I continue to keep quiet about my feelings? This is a smart, good looking, and kind man who continues to come back, and I don’t say anything. I mean, he doesn’t have a fate line in his palm which means his destiny can travel in any direction. I’ll be his compass.
“Paul, do you love me?”
“Excuse me?”
“I feel that each time we see each other, our spiritual connection deepens. I can’t stop thinking about you; you’re the last person I think of when I go to bed. I…”
Paul’s face is shocked as he rises from the chair, “I think I’m going to go.”
“You can’t leave! I mean, you don’t feel the same way I do?”
“This is the 4th time I’ve entered this place, we’ve never conversed more than psychic stuff, and I’ve been talking to a girl for a while now.”
I stand up from my seat, “Why keep coming here?”
“The girl I’m talking to likes this stupid stuff. It’s been four months, I want to get laid.”
“Stupid?!” If my hair could be angry, snakes would hiss.
My voice turns coarse, “Get out, non-believer!”
“You’re crazy,” he gawks as he walks out.
I can’t believe I ever liked that man, let alone love him. Even though he’s as uncultured as a pig, it may take a while to get over him. I hear the bell above my door go off.
A man around six feet tall wearing a suit walks into my shop.
He’s very handsome.
I think I just found my new favorite client.

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