#superstition
A woman sits across the table, in her hands, an intricate flower-painted teacup. It’s a small thing, only an inch or two in height and even less in diameter. She peers down into it, draws a breath through her nose, and nods. When she looks up from her study, there is a distinct air of knowing to her. She is about to read a fortune. Every Egyptian has met this woman in some capacity; she is someone’s great aunt, someone’s…
