Touching wood, lucky charms, none of it will help you see the car you never saw coming, or avoid the tumor you didn’t realize you had.
It was what she wanted to shout at clients, at the ones who came back again and again looking for answers that she could not give. But you can choose what you yourself do with the cards you’re dealt. You can’t influence fate, or change what’s out of your control. You can’t predict the future, Hal, her mother had reminded her, time and time again.
False promises, designed to give the illusion of control and meaning in a world in which the only destiny came from yourself. Touching wood, crossing fingers, counting magpies-they were lies, all of them. Because superstition was a trap-that was what she had learned, in the years of plying her trade on the pier.
0 kommentar(er)
