the man has whiteout eyebrows

the man has whiteout eyebrows. he has whiteout on his palms and blood on his fingers.

it is a saturday afternoon, a bit overcast in an east coast kind of way. there's a fog thats fallen over the city and it's been here since 12:30 last night. we've decided to go for a walk, picked up a drink for the way and wondered down through unexplored parts of the city to crab lot park.

it's a hidden park. not so much hidden but unpractical for going to because it's seperated from downtown by train tracks.

we're sitting, looking out into the sea, watching tug boats. I fantasize about being a tugboat captain.

then i take a look down the beach:

a man approaches us. he shows us a small dirty DV tape and says he's been making a movie. it's the man with no eyebrows, except for the whiteout.

i ask what the movie is about and he says "i've been reading her --" and i misunderstand him. I ask what type poems and he corrects me. "Palms. I've been reading her palms, like fortune telling."

he thinks we're with a non-existent film crew, maybe part of his, but i tell him we're with neither. he lights up a spoke, turns to the girl, smiles, says he's had fun, that they should do it again. she agrees, "yea."

they start to walk away, the fortune teller has a garbage bag in each hand, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. there's futures to be told.