Book3:WereMyDreamIs

lupanddownsaying,

    “Sir,Iseeyouareschizophrenic.Wouldyouliketotalktome?Ichargeonly15forthat.ButifyouwanttoknowmoreiailIusethetarocardstotellyoufortune.ForthatIcharge50.Howaboutit,sir?”Asithappehatthiswasnotonlyanantiquestore,buyingandsellingoldthingsbutitwasalsoapceforfortuelling.

    “Tohellwiththatmumbojumbo”repliedEmmanuelrudely,wavingtheoldwomanaside.“Idon’tbelieveinthatstuff.”Theoldwoman’ssharpeyesfollowedEmmanueshewanderedarouore.Theinteriorofthestorewasdimandthewaresexhibitedthereweremostlyoldradios,mps,armclocks,telephoneanddust-coatedswallow-tailedcoats,nothingmuchofi,iingonlytojunkcollectorsandpeoplewhocherishedoldthings.Emmanuelwasjustabouttoleavewhenhisfootkickedagainstsomet