The next day.

Last night was wonderful. The three of us women had a wonderful time. And I am sure that some of the tables around us did too.


There was one man there, with his wife, who kept staring at us. As I glanced at him, I noticed he didn’t even speak with his wife and neither did she speak with him. He was too interested in our conversation. It may have been the one about men or possibly it was the one about toys, I don’t remember, but he kept watching us. I didn’t see him turn red so he must not have heard everything.


What he didn’t know was that I was reading him and all the other people in the restaurant. And from reading him, I felt an incredible sadness, almost as if he had lost someone very important to him… he had lost himself. Think I will say a prayer for him and about five others very close to our table.


The only problem with going out like that, drinking a Swirled Margarita with Sangria, (I only had a sip of Connie’s) is that you enjoy talking with your friends so much that you don’t want to leave. It is like an oasis in the middle of the dessert. You are afraid to leave the safety of your friends to go back to the dessert of everyday life. Just for a moment in time, you have a break, surrounded in comfort and safety. Except for the one thing I am that I cannot leave behind, being a psychic. And that is a comfort too. That goes with me everywhere. It is my breath. And though I was genuinely laughing at and with my friends, I was reading everyone in that restaurant. But that is something I don’t mind. Oh, and by the way, I am secretly planning when we might be able to do it again.


Da Juana