For the next 20 minutes or so, Sema’s assessments flow in a stream-of-consciousness manner with very few pauses. There’s no stopping her as she expertly combs my cup in search of images—and, conceivably, hints about my past, present, and future.
“You must listen me,” he said, his refusal to use prepositions starting to bug me. “Please?” “Look man, I told you. I-DON’T-HAVE-MONEY-FOR-YOU. Niente. Nada.