The sign, in fading red paint, said simply “Readings.”
If one looked closely they could tell it was painted with a single brush stroke, not touched up or filled in.
Barb walked in.
Maybe the woman–it was always a woman in places like this–sold knick knacks or oils or incense or…something she could bring back for Margaret.
She would get a reading, maybe, depending on what was read.
The place had an aroma. The aroma was stark, different. The walls bore no signage, no prices, just abstract black and white photos, so abstract in fact, that Barb wasn’t sure they were photos.
Shapes, shadows…ghosts?
A woman emerged from behind a curtain.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Jimmy Doom's Roulette Weal to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.