Another Sense Involved

Keeping up the grin and general air of theatrics he began shifting his hands through his various layers of clothing. His mock look of consternation communicated quite clearly that he was looking for something.

Not wanting to see what he was looking for, I whispered, “We should move to the next car, or…”

“Aha!” he proclaimed with all the drama of a Vaudeville act, holding a shiny, blue marble between his left thumb and forefinger. I know my face twisted, the way it always does, into my look of confusion and disdain. My mom says I should work on not doing it. My cousin, on the other hand, seemed spell-bound.

“So…lovely,” escaped her lips as if involuntarily.

“Gwen, snap out of it,” I tried, “Come on, let’s…” This time I stopped myself.

The man was holding the marble to his ear and listening intently. The grin on his dirty mug grew and grew. His eyes, crusty and yellow, fixed on my cousin.

He crooned lowly, “Deary, deary, dear, I hear your future,” and offered the marble humbly.

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