It was one of those days where nothing seemed to go right and invited by mates to the town fair seemed an innocent way to spend his Sunday.
They coaxed him into the fortuneteller’s booth and reluctantly he went in.
The old lady at the table folded her arms on top of the table and looked him in the eye.
“You’re pharked,” she said in her strong Irish accent, “there’s nothing but misery and hardship in store for ya.”
He gulped, it wasn’t what he expected. They sat in silence for a moment before she said, “Thet’ll be ten dollars and when you leave watch where ya step.”
He left the booth, ten dollars the poorer and sceptical about what he’d paid ten dollars for. But as he left he tripped in the doorway stubbing his toe, fell over a man passing by and landed in a large soft cowpat. He picked himself up and began cleaning himself down when his mates arrived with a plastic glass of beer, which once in his hand was knocked out by a boy carrying a large teddy bear.
So with himself covered in a mixture of cow poo and beer and began to wonder the truth of the old lady’s prediction.