Nineveh stepped outside of the small coffee shop and into the small bustle of travelers on Bourbon street. She walked through the crisp brush of orange, red, and brown autumn leaves lining the street. As Nineveh stood at the corner waiting to cross the street she could feel a sudden rush of the cool autumn wind brush against her body. The breeze had taken her by surprise and she instinctively looked to the right from whence the wind had blown. Amongst the boutiques lining the small alley street, she noticed one in particular.
Nineveh had taken the same route to work for the last two years but never noticed the building. Awed, Nineveh walked down the small alley street towards the building. As she walked closer, she felt an unfamiliar eeriness but the building was capitivating and she felt entranced. Nineveh continued to approach the shop. The frame of the building was dated yet exquisitely designed and the old fashioned French doors were very welcoming. Above the door was a sign, “Tarot, Tools of the Trade”. Nineveh walked forward opening one of the doors which was noticably heavy. A windchime full of miniature moons and stars alerted the shop keeper.
A lady seemingly in her late fifties emerged from behind a book shelf, “May we help you?”, she asked Nineveh.
