Sybil

The vendors are swarming us.

“I see your future,” she says, grabbing at my arm. “You like know? One hundred yuan.”

I glance at her. She has coke-bottle thick glasses. Can she see anything? I pull my arm away. “Bu yao!”

“Fifty yuan.”

I feel my shirt pocket to make sure my wallet’s still there. I’ve moved it from my back pocket. Master Hong says that here in X’ian, pickpockets operate in force outside the terra cotta warrior museum.

“You see,” she yells. “You have danger you no pay me. You bad future.”

So lucky, I think. A free reading.