Not sure if that'll work in that country. Ever heard of the IRA?

"The people who collect our taxes? What does that have to do with anything?"

Taking one last stab at a man's faith in mankind, I ask Ray — a dark-haired Cuban in an FIU hoodie and flip-flops who's sitting alone at the central bar — to draw a card. He picks "The Hermit."

"We'll become so technologically dependent and lazy that none of us will ever leave the house," he says in a monotone Hispanic accent. "We'll all become so socially awkward that the main source of reproduction will be via a Petri dish."

What a Ray of sunshine. So I step out of the bar and into the night, where Luz once again greets me.

"What's your address?" she asks while opening her fanny pack, taking out a pen, and testing the ink by scribbling on the back of her hand. "I think we should start a coven. I'm telepathic."

I tell her with my mind that I live in a magical wizard world where the only way anyone can get to my home is by riding a giant dragon-dog named Falcor. But she doesn't get it.

"Can we at least be blood sisters?" she asks, desperately poking the tip of her index finger with the pen.

I don't know. With the looming threat of vampires, Ikea orgies, and a worldwide spread of crabs in our near future, sharing fluids doesn't sound like the most appealing idea.

"Why don't we let the tarot cards make that decision?" she says, beckoning me to draw a card. Despite all of my optimism about the future, I've never been happier to draw a card labeled "Death."

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