An old house I sometimes drive past is home to a palm reader. A large white, blue and red sign affixed to the roof proclaims "Fortune Telling --- Psychic Readings --- Palmistry." The words are positioned around a large red hand in the center. Every so often there is an "Under New Management" banner hanging outside, but the name of the psychic reader never changes. She always goes by Annie.
I've never even considered stopping there, despite the tantalizing lure of another large sign posted in the window shouting "Special! Palms Read $10!" I mean, sure it sounds like a great deal and all. And who doesn't love a bargain? But I just can't see myself strolling in there, slapping my $10 on the table and requesting Annie's version of the future she sees written on my palm.
I've never had my palm read. Frankly, those folks scare me. Well. It's situational fear. I'd not be afraid to pass them on the street or stand in line with them at the grocery store, places within my comfort zone. My fear is of the unknown. The mystical. The double-hex-triple-whammy. What if my palm really has something to say? The secrets my palms must hold! I'm not ready to unleash such things on my conscience.
Oh who am I trying to kid? I'm far too practical to indulge in things of such whimsical nature. I'm a bookkeeper for pete's sake. It goes against my nature. I'll save my $10 for a case of cheap beer.
Across the street from Annie's House of Palmistry is one of the ancient motels that still operates along Richmond Highway. Years ago, it was named the Harry Smith Motel. I kid you not. The good old Harry Smith. Evidently, a weary traveller could get much more than just a room for the night at the Harry Smith Motel. The police shut them down but it has since reopened with a different name, Cedar something. It's not nearly as interesting without rumors of drug dealing and prostitution.
Where was I going with this anyway? Oh yeah. I remember reading something somewhere sometime that the lines on one's palms change through the years as one experiences life. I read it long enough ago to have since forgotten the details. But evidently not only can a palm reveal the future, it also speaks of the past.
Do fortunetellers read feet? The reason I started thinking about palm readers is because I've got these new lines on my foot. On the bottom of my right foot. Across my heel. Three of them. Parallel. What could they possibly mean? Curiosity abounds.
Yeah. My life is pretty plain. But I like it that way.
Post title borrowed from the lyrics of Blind Melon's No Rain. It's echoing in my head after hearing it on the drive home from work this evening.