MY BLOODY SEANCE - PART ONE SINCE IT'S 11:25

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{east european conversation = gibberish to white man in suit and tie who walks up to a store front [THE PSYCHIC READING ROOM - PALMS, TAROT] and to [what he sees as] two 21st century gypsies, both of whom are smoking}

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Excuse me...uh....I.....

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I say {throat clear} I say I was wondering about getting a - uh - a "reading" {makes little quote signs in the air with his fingers}?

Yes sir please...{one of the women drops and steps on her cigarette grinding it into the sidewalk and gestures for him to enter, the other peels away and vanishes.  The woman speaks in a heavilly accented English which would present as a put-on by a native speaker of the tongue from whence the "accent" is alleged to have extended into her English but nonetheless completes the perfect picture for the man in the suit and makes him begin to feel a smidge more at ease with the whole thing what with his in-bred attitude [superior] toward "foreigners" and it actually reminds him [the accent plus the whole creepy feel of the quote-unquote gypsy and her cheap but authentic-feeling environs] of The Wolf Man (1941) with Lon Chaney Jr. and Claude Rains, with the wolf-head cane and the dry-ice fog hugging the soundstage landscape.}

I was wond...I wanted to ask..

Please sir, step in.

Oh, well, yes, but I wanted to ask, might I get...might there be...

No happy endings here sir, massage parlor down the street - Koreans. {she laughs...she's joking}

No, hah-hah {blanching and reddening simultaneously but forging ahead, which if you knew him was saying a lot because he was already way off the reservation w/r/t what would be considered typical behavior for him}...no, I wondered, might there be a possibility of a seance?  Is that the right word?

Seance?  You wish to commune with the dead?

Well, yes.  Not all of them.  Just one person in particular.  One man.

Step in sir, please....I think the reading will be a beginning; a help to you first and then we can discuss other questions you may have...about your father.  {they enter and he is quickly led to a table--paint your own picture, you know what it ALL looks like.}

My father?

Yes.  Please take my hand.

How did you know it was my father?

Please sir, take my hands.

{He moves his hands from the table to his lap and also makes a series of gestures and head & body movements which scream "DEFENSIVE" to the woman who, while not formally trained in any of the so-called psychoanalytical disciplines, could write a book about body language, and it would be a sure-fire, crackerjack best seller but, as it would be revealing trade secrets, it would likely put her out of the medium business, which really wouldn't matter to HER theoretically since SHE would be sitting, as it were, with a hit book (and presumably a steady stream of fat royalty checks) but it would though, in fact, cut into the business of many, many OTHER people in her profession, her colleagues so to speak--people generally not known for their forgiving or understanding nature(s) when it came to the stanching of the life-blood of their industry [namely the exploitation of the emotional desperation of people, from all walks of life, searching for meaning and connection and some understanding perhaps of who they are/were and where they're going/came from, aka their 'destiny'] which is a polite way to put it}

How did you know?

You come to a psychic reading and you ask how did I know?

Yes, I see.

Now please sir, take my hands.

Would you mind very much...

Sir?

I say, I saw you were smoking.  Before.  Would you mind washing your hands?