"Psychic Off Duty"

What do I know from being psychic? Will I even admit that I have a gift? I'll tell you this much, it happens when it happens. But when it does happen it's like a floodgate opens, take for instance the other night. The kid who drove for the Wai'anae Ghost tour? I heard everything in my head that he was going to say before he said it. In fact, I finished most of his sentences, but the second he got wide-eyed and thought that there was something otherworldly going on, I just told him that it was just age and wisdom on my part.

"I've been where you're at right now," I told him. "It's pretty simple to figure out."

In my short time on this earth, I've found that it's safer to not make any claims about being anything more than you are. It just attracts more trouble, and there are just too many people out there who are lost and looking for something to fill that empty hole in their life. These are the kinds of people who you attract when you claim to be more than you are, of course when they find out that you are just as human as they are, and not at all the great Oz that you let them make you out to be, you're not only left with a group of disillusioned followers, you're also left with a bunch of potential lawsuits.

So, I stay away from it all and I deny that I possess anything more than a talent at second guessing. That doesn't necessarily mean that it all stays away from me, case and point, Howard Lishman. I just picked up the newspaper that he left behind at Starbucks. I don't care for Starbucks myself, but they own all of the tables that crowd the walkway just outside their doors. It's a good place to sit when there aren't any other seats available in the Jamba Juice and Kozo Sushi. Everything that is Howard Lishman is all over this newspaper. His morning routine, his arrogance, his cowardice and his fake affection for his dog that he only brings along as a conversation piece. When this schnauzer dies, he'll just saunter over to the humane society and get another one. What does it all mean? Howard has money, he's got a house and a luxury car, so why has he left his psychic thumbprint of himself on the morning paper?

He's alone. Not lonely, but very much alone.

Before I can get any more information, Howard walks over and reaches out for the paper in my hands.

"I'm sorry," he says. "That's my paper, I forgot it."

"No problem," I say as I hand it over to him. I've already read his next thought, so I save him the trouble. "Before you accuse me of stealing your newspaper, let me just say that I'm very sorry about you being alone and all by yourself. It confuses me because on one hand, you want the company but on the other hand, you don't. You're set in your ways and you don't want someone to come into your life and start making changes because you don't want change, but at the same time you don't wanna die alone."

He stands there with his mouth open, that's the general reaction. I hand him his newspaper and I get up to leave.

"It's one or the other Howard," I tell him as I give him a pat on the shoulder. "By the way, your dog is mad loyal to you no matter what you do to him, he keeps hoping that you'll change one day."

I leave him dumbfounded enough that he won't follow me to my car, which of course buys me time to hop into my vehicle and drive away. Whew, another close call.