A Fortunate Investment

Anthony furrowed his brow. His cheeks crinkled, lips pursed. The turban wrapped around his skull slipped forward as he nodded vigorously. "Good, good. Open just a bit wider, please."

Timothy huffed and pushed up his eyelids with fingers. "I can't!"

"That's perfect."

The tent was dark, with purple drapes and carpets laid out strategically. A crystal ball swirled languidly between the two men, their only source of light. Timothy saw no change in its speed or consistency, but suddenly Anthony sat up straight and grinned, looking between the ball and Timothy's eyes.

"Your cat is eight years old!"

Groaning, Timothy fell back into his seat and rubbed his eyes. "That's it? Seriously? Tony, nobody is going to believe that you're an actual fortune teller. Just cut your losses. Besides, you already knew about my cat. It doesn't count."

"No, no. I saw a funny looking swirl that made an eight, and after that, the outline of a cat's whiskers and ears! It's definitely a sign."

"Then why in the world were you having me open my eyes so wide? You were only looking at the ball thingy."

Anthony frowned and huffed. "Duh. The eyes are the window to the soul."