All posts tagged: Bob Hicok

Bob Hicok
The Fortune Teller

cannot tell me if Americans will come to believe in evolution. “You will get a sliver of cedar in your hand,” she says, kissing my palm where Christ would have had a scab, whose father made everything, including Band-Aids, according to polls. And what about the oceans? Will senators admit we’re breaking them? Her eyes roll to white, a wave of capitalism snaps her flesh to and fro in her chair, “I see a woman telling you not to worry, it happens to all men,” and falls back, arms flung out, panting as if she has just won gold in the hundred meter fly. Can you at least see if we’ll stop beating up nerds in movies? She takes her wig off, her mole, her hooked nose is a prosthetic, her crap teeth are fake, layer by layer she un-uglies herself until I’m looking at a beautiful woman lighting a cigarette and saying, “no one likes the smartest person in the room.” She’s so wise I want to marry her brain and protect it at …