A New Life
By Karen Fisher
The psychic was an ugly man, aging, in gold jewelry. I was unsettled by the darkness of his lashes, the fullness of his lips. When he laughed, he threw his head back like a woman.
“What about her?” My boyfriend asked. We were at a table of friends, lunching at a restaurant on the pier. The air moist and heavy, smelling of tarred decking and fried fish.