When I was twenty-five and realizing for the first time that I didn't know everything, I saw a palm reader. It didn't happen on purpose.
It was Valentine's Day and, like most couples, my Valentine and I made a reservation to sit at a fancy restaurant, wear fancy clothes, and pay a fancy price. Couples' buzz permeated an over-capacitated room. At each table sat a pair of long gazes, drunk on cheap wine, and sweaty palms that stretched across the table to claimed hands.