Rubbed sage saturates her salt lamp. Rose quartz sits on her altar. Shuffling the deck, she glances at me, then gently lays the deck on the reading cloth. Twice I cut the deck. As the cards appear, she tells me I had a past life with Langston Hughes. Confused, I nod, to hear her say that I will meet a man in New York City and develop a relationship with him. Oh, to be a black femme in search of fifteen minutes of truth. Were there better uses for my twenty five dollars? Maybe. But this time I’m not fooled.