The bitter grit was hard to swallow. I’m used to those little sachets of chamomile or oolong, not dregs thick enough to coat my tongue. I should’ve taken tasseomancy more seriously.
“The first thing you see?” She pointed to the cup.
“Sadness. Here on the rim?”
“Something like an octopus.”
Her thick kabuki makeup made it difficult to read her face, but her body language told me I was in deep kimchi. She clutched her chest.
“On the bowl?”
“I see a bag.”
“A trap. Lastly, on the bottom?”
“It looks like a wolf’s head.”