Insert coin
When you put a quarter into the fortune teller machine and rip open your ribcage to display your heart like exhibit-A When you point to white board drawings and trace lines of scars road-mapped over your soul like exhibit-R When the tears mimic the movements of dreams splashing into splinters on the cold concrete floor like exhibit-C There will be no response from the machine the lights will not blink and flicker You are going to have to console yourself It was just a quarter, after all.