‘Are you?’
‘Of course. Most people in Sedona are.’
In Sakina’s kitchen, germinated herbal tea bags (used) hang from an empty bottle of Ivory soap. There is a mystic chopping board which emanates ultra low-frequency signals and protects your carrots and other chopped items from psychic attack. One of the gas rings fires in a semi-circle, the others are dead. In general Sakina recommends enchilada with sour cream and guacamole down at the Copper Kettle on Highway 89A, ‘$3.89, comes with biscuits, you won’t need another thing all day’ but she goes there less and less herself on account of the dwindling of her star guide business.
‘We had this perfect house in Cape Cod, overlooking the sea, but Philip went into the spirit world and I got out and moved west, thought I would get to San Diego. Never made it,’ she says of a life long gone. I’m reminded of a fallen sign in the backyard, partially covered by a stone, which reads ‘Philip Comyns, Medical Practitioner,’ followed by a series of letters in peeling gold leaf.
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