Snap (excerpt)
Chapter Three
A bell jangled when I opened Psychic Photos’s purple door. There was another customer in there already: a woman in a straw visor stood in front of the digital photo printer, squinting at the screen.
Despite the funky name, the store looked pretty much like a normal photo place: a display case full of cameras, racks of film, color-drenched pictures on the walls. But the walls were the same purple as the outside and the sides of the service counter were encrusted with rhinestones, bottle caps, and shells. To my disappointment, there were no crystal balls or tarot cards.
A tall, angular girl stood behind the counter. She had the oddest hair I’d ever seen: straight and just past her shoulders, it was brown with black bond and pink -- yes, pink -- stripes. It made the unwashed mess on my head look normal.
She nodded hello.
I shot her a half-smile in return.
“Don’t say it,” She said.”
© Carol Snow
“Excuse me?” Did she expect me to comment on her hair? I wasn’t that rude.
“You know.” She sighed and closed her eyes. Her eyelashes were pale, as was her skin. A spray of freckles ran over the bridge of her nose. She had no curves and she wore no makeup. If not for the crazy hair, I would have guessed she was an extremely tall twelve-year-old.
Behind me, the door jangled again, and a man walked in. He was middle aged, with a round, squishy belly and a yellow T-shirt that said, “Fishermen Make a Great Catch.”
He grinned at the girl behind the counter. “I’d tell you what I’m here for, but I guess you already know.”
She kept her face expressionless. “Can I help you?”
“I have film to drop off.”
She picked up a pen and pulled a yellow envelope from behind the counter. “Your name?”
The smile was back, bigger this time. “Don’t you already know it?”
She gave him a look.
“Well? Aren’t you psychic?”
She tapped her pen on the counter. She had silver rings on all of her fingers, even the thumbs. “Rose will be doing readings this afternoon. She has a few openings if you’d like to make an appointment.”
“Nah -- just the pictures.” He handed her the film.
She slipped it into a yellow envelope. “Your prints will be ready tomorrow afternoon.”
His eyebrows shot up. “But the sign outside said this was a one-hour photo.”
She shrugged. “The psychic is one hour. Photos take a day.”
