Another visit to Delphica this morning. He takes me along because he doesn't want his own fortune told. He doesn't want to know.
By noon he was drunk. An orgy of regretting.
"She was meant for the inner circle."
The Cardinal is a quiet drunk. As his anger mounts he grows increasingly hard to hear.
"She should have her own temple. A goddam marble fuckin temple. Zone of Ultimate Truth."
He quietly rails against the collective evil that has left her unfinished from the waist down and locked in a tawdry little prison in a bad part of town.
"She doesn't deserve that."
"Petty fucking bastards."
I took him home and put him in my bed.
"She was meant for kings and [couldn't make out the word], instead she's forced to prophesy for small-town whores and petty thieves."
Before he fell asleep he began whispering the mantra, "I have to get out."