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Alobar Greywalker: Magickal Record (aka Frater PVN, LA-BAJ-AL)
My Ever Evolving Grimoire: The Book of the Confluence of Forces
alobar
alobar
Zorp, Me, and some Fucktards
        It was a very slow night. Me and Zorp doing nothing. Beautiful weather, but no people.

       Nothing for me to look at. People watching is no fun when no people to watch.

       Zorp got a reading. I drifted in-&-out of consciousness. Not deep sleep lie I used to do. Just little cat naps. I hate to sound like a broken record, but Rhodiola seems to be why I am more wakeful.

       So this woman comes up to me. My Gods! She was a sourpuss! Even before were began talking with one another, she was sour & bitter. If I had had a glass of milk on my table, her look would have curdled it!

       She did not really look lie the woman here, but the same sour puss.  She looked to be close to 50, but probably was a decade younger.  Her disposition left a lot to be desired.

       Had she not been a potential customer, I would have been amused by her. But she wanted a reading from me. That scared me. Were I not desperate for $$, I would have just told her to go away. But I was desperate, so we dialogged.

       What she was looking for was very unclear at first. As she talked it became clear. She wanted me to delineate the problem in her life (with her not telling me anything), then she wanted me to solve her dilemma (in a way she wanted to hear!).

       Not only that, she was planning to pay me ZERO if she did not get what she was looking for.

       If he were not such a chronic sourpuss who so obviously was unhappy with her entire life. I might have accepted the challenge. I read folks who say they wil give me $15, but who (at the end of the reading) give me $20 or $25.

       Even though I was broke, I sent her away. If I believed in banishings, I would have burned Asafoetida and summoned demons to lick my environment clean of her residue.

       I wanted to process my sourpuss gal with Zorp, but he was still with his client.

       Another guy comes up. Businessman. Not drunk. Very confused and inarticulate. We chatted. I kept asking him to explain what he had just said to me. Drunken street people are more clear & cogent than this guy!

       He leaves. He tells me he is off to a bank machine to get $$ for a reading.

       I don't believe him. He had no intention of returning. But he lied to me. In the early days on the Square (particularly during times of poor income) I would have stayed an hour or two past my usual closing in the hopes of his return.

       I hate fucktards like him. Be honest. Be real. Just tell me no-thanks and walk away.

       Zorp was still with the gal he had been reading for te past 2 hours. I thought maybe she was a close friend, or a gal he was trying to pick up, rather than a customer.

       I packed up. Zorp packed up. Zorp left the Square with the gal.

       My stamina and stability was good as I packed up. I kept giving my body kudos for a job well done.

       Just before I left the Square, Zorp returned. The gal had been a client. He walked her back to her hotel because she was nervous in the Quarter at 2 AM. When they parted, she stiffed Zorp. Not a penny for her very lengthy reading. No tip for him walking her to her hotel. A fucktard who was staying in an expensive hotel.

       Fucktards I had were not nearly as irritating as the gal Zorp wasted his time on.
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