Tarot Reading

Sunday rolled around. It was a sunny afternoon and I decided to take a bicycle ride through the neighborhood, maybe stop at my local, clean, not-well-lighted dive bar and write.

I coasted around a corner and saw a larger-than-normal congregation sitting on Mark's sidewalk. Naturally, I pedaled over to investigate. Mark was there and waved me over. I pulled up and straddled my bike.

Four new people, two young men, two young women, sat on the sidewalk near Mark and exuded a definite homeless vibe. Donny was there, too, drunk. An empty half pint of vodka rested near him.

The foursome were drinking beers, smoking cigarettes, fiddling with phones, and engaged in energetic conversation about something I couldn't ascertain. I did hear the word “deodorant.”

It was then I noticed Mark had a deck of tarot cards fanned out in front of him on the sidewalk. I also noticed he'd drained two 24-ounce cans of malt liquor and was a little loopy.

Mark asked me if I wanted a tarot reading. It wouldn't take long.

Did I want a reading? Does a beaver shit in the woods? (Actually, I don't know.)

Sure, I wanted a reading! My last one, held inside a driftwood fort 50 yards from the ocean had led to marvelous outcomes.

Mark told me to sit down and I sat down on the sidewalk. It was my first time and damn uncomfortable. He instructed me to choose seven cards. I did. He turned over the first card and launched into an enthusiastic analysis. Every overturned card brought exclamations of surprise. Every overturned card ratcheted up his enthusiasm. I couldn't keep up. I couldn't take notes.

At some point, Donnie interrupted Mark and cast slurred aspersions about his ability to read tarot cards.

Mark said he'd been reading tarot cards for 27 years so shut the fuck up! Donny said he was just joshing him.

During the reading, Mark said something about “riches and shit.” He also mentioned death and that I had gone to hell and back not too long ago (true) but there was still something wonderful out there for me to experience, perhaps even one last great love (!). I think he said something about the letter “A” in connection to that.

The reading was winding down when Mark said he wanted to set up a tent in Sellwood Park, hang up a shingle, and charge for readings. But how much to charge, though? He didn't know. What did I think?

I stood up to leave. My ass was sore. I thanked Mark for the reading, fished out a $20 bill, and handed it to him. I said 20 smackers might be a good price.

Mark thanked me, I got on my bike, rode away, and considered his reading. There was something in there I could use for sure.