As the visitor waited for his daughter to pick him up at the airport, he received the text from her telling him that she’s running late. She suggested that he cross the street and busy himself at the bazaar until she arrived.
Despite the flow of cars, he managed to make his way to the parking lot that was now hosting the monthly bazaar.
There were many tents, some with food, others with touristy tchotchkes for sale. But he was drawn to the tent with the sign that said “Fortunes Told.”
He pushed aside the beads hanging across the opening of the tent, walked across a plush oriental rug, and sat down in a comfortable chair. A woman in colorful, flowing garb walked out from behind an opaque screen, sat down across from him, and motioned for him to place his hands into hers, which he did.
The fortune teller closed her eyes, leaving the visitor waiting in suspense for her to speak.
“Your ride is here,” she finally said. “That will be $25.”
Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge from Priceless Joy. Image credit: Dorothy.