The attendant running things at the lot where I’ve parked for the past eight years can’t wait to see me today. It’s because I literally hold his future in my hands every Thursday.
Our ritual goes like this: I pop by to pick up my car, he’s sitting in the glassed-in box that approximates an office over there and we make the swift, deft, expert exchange. “Thanks, babe,” he says in an accent that I honestly still haven’t yet figured out. “Good luck,” I reply. He’ll nod knowingly and say something like “Let’s hope it’s a good one. Last week, not so good.”
He’s a Leo so it’s dicey with them. Geminis like me, we’re an odd lot and nobody understands us - except other Gems.
What I hate are those Thursdays when I’m not here or I can’t pick up the early print copy of the Sunday horoscope for my friend. It bugs me to leave him hanging like that, life in the balance, until the next week when we do it all over again and everything’s right in our little universe.
