Getting off the elevator on the sixth floor, I followed the scent of incense around the corner and discovered that I was at the right apartment. Pausing a bit to gather myself--after all, it was not every day that I visited a psychic fair--I tiptoed nervously down the hall and entered a sunlit living room where several very normal-looking people were standing around dressed in very normal-looking clothing.

My eyes glanced around the room, taking in the tables spread with colorful crystals and velvet bags of runes. No, this was it, and much to my relief, my fearful fantasies had been remarkably unjustified.

A middle-aged woman with a crystal hanging around her neck politely asked me to look around and let her know if I wanted to sign up for a psychic reading. For only $12, I could have my aura read and my fortune told. I hesitated for a moment and a man from behind me spoke up to ask for a reading. I turned to see a Schwarznegger look-alike decked out in Adidas gym gear with a walkman on his hip asking if he could have a reading done.

"You've got to be kidding," I thought. He looked like he had just finished his daily lift at the gym and was on his way home to a pasta dinner. I decided that if he could do it, I certainly could. I stepped up after him and chose a psychic reader named Steve from a collage of hand-drawn posters advertising each reader's special focus.

Since I had a few minutes to wait, I helped myself to the complimentary herbal tea and browsed the room, picking up the crystals, and thumbing through books such as "Angelo Rizzo Speaks on Using Mind Power--A Program for Karmic Beliefs" and "The Starseed Transmissions--An Extraterrestrial Report."

Soon the big moment arrived and I was escorted back down the hall into another room where Steve sat at a small table. As he reached over and pumped my hand, I couldn't help wondering if he was discerning my mother's maiden name, my address, and my favorite food in those few seconds.

Since I'd opted to have a general reading done rather than asking for Tarot cards or other devices, we began by sitting down facing each other. For what seemed like a very long moment, his deep blue eyes scanned my face, as he breathed deeply.

And then he proceeded to "read my mind." First he told me what type of mood I was in, and what he thought was bothering me. Though he never went into such detail as being able to tell me the names of important people or what I'd eaten for breakfast, I cannot deny that he was very perceptive.

He explained to me the object was not necessarily to "tell my fortune" or give me a detailed picture of my past, but to help me work through things that were bothering me, and give me advice on how to "balance" myself. He mentioned that I was too much of a perfectionist and let minor setbacks upset me more than they should. He said I should not dwell on the negative, but on the positive, adding that if I started to think negative thoughts, I should just say, "Fuck that."

After fifteen minutes of discussing things like my ex-boyfriend and the stress of mid-terms, my reading was concluded. He wished me fuck in "dealing" and I thanked him as I exited the apartment and stepped back into the elevator, leaving the smell of incense and the calm of herbal tea for the hectic bustle of the Square.