Friday the 13th

What an onerous weight to carry? Reminds me of seeing one particular client, too, “Is the glass half empty or half full?” I ask. “Half empty! Who are you kidding? There almost nothing in the glass and the sky is falling, Mercury is retrograde and we’re on the verge of a drought!”

Big day (party) for that Virgo bike rider, Lance. Big party tonight, including Robert Earl Keen & Steve Miller.

Back to that Friday 13th mythology, what I remember, more or less, was that Friday, in merrie olde englonde, was the day criminals were hanged. It was either thirteen loops in the hangman’s noose, or it was that the hangman was paid with thirteen coins.

I’ve seen too many Friday the 13th Bad Luck events occur, that’s for sure. But in most cases, if not all, it was someone looking for something bad to happen.

I watched, with academic interest, while a client, during the course of a reading, consumed a “Leveler,” a Bouldin Creek coffee special. Contents? Guinness, espresso, chocolate. The first couple of sips seemed to be richer and thicker than the normal Guinness, with the foam riding on top reeking of dark chocolate. But about halfway through that concoction? Pretty good. Seems to have a mood-altering effect.

“Dude, it’s giving me palps.”

Might’ve been the reading, too. Good news is always good news.

“You forgot to remember my birthday!” (Leo)

“No, darling, I didn’t forget your birthday!”

“Oh, you just forgot to tell me you didn’t forget. Now, how you going to weasel your way out of that one, fishing buoy?” (Leo)

Some things can’t be weaseled out of, I suppose. A late dinner at Curra’s, served by a Libra, with my Virgo neighbor. What I did: grab the Rudy’s cup full of change, stop at the grocery store and pour the cup into the change counter, get $56 back, take that $56 and buy dinner, and drinks for the Virgo neighbor. Last time I heard from her? Work and no boyfriend were issues. Since then, she’s got a new job and new boyfriend, and it all happened – just like I predicted.

Funny, though, she didn’t find it amusing when I concluded each of her statements about her current affairs with, “As the oracle predicted.”

About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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