tasseography

I took my last swig of the bitter brew and the tea leaves slid to the bottom of the cup on a watery film. Leaning back in my chair, the taste of tannins was quickly replaced with the essence of mothballs and herbs that filed the stagnant air. I was chilled and impatient, sitting in a hard plastic chair, trying to make sense of the woman’s schizophrenic ramblings and erratic hand talking. Her visions and reality blurred into a life tale of agoraphobia and mysticism. Finally, she bent and peered into my cup, and pulled back white-faced in wide-eyed horror.