That’s actually pretty fucking good advice. A woman on a bench up on Prospect Park South today smiled at me and asked if I wanted my fortune read.

Nah, no thanks I’m good.

You’re good? Are you sure?

I think so.

Give me $5.

Excuse me?

Give me $5.

No.

I need $5.

I don’t have $5 to give you.

Bullshit!

Fuck off!

You’re going to be dead in a year! That’s a free one!

Good! Then I’ll see you and that fucking mustache in hell.

You’re already dead and you don’t know it.

There you have it. Cursed by a shabby woman with rosacea and a corduroy skirt. I fucking hate corduroy skirts. The weird thing is, 2019 has been all about people telling me I’m going to die. Well, one guy that bumped into me asked if I want to die and then got skitzed when I answered in the affirmative. But since May three different women I’ve never seen before told me I’ll be dead in a year.

The advice about talking to strangers wasn’t so bad at all.