Four young men sat at a booth in the coffee shop, their heads all bowed and their noses in books. "I'm going to the Renaissance Fair this weekend," one of them announced.
"It's a cult," said his neighbor.
"How can the Renaissance Fair be a cult? It's a time period." The man looked up from his bible.
"They always have fortune tellers, palm readers and magicians there. It's a cult."
"They have fortune tellers, palm readers and magicians because that's what was accepted during that time period. It's not a cult. It's an era."
At the table beside the men sat two women. The younger one dressed in black with dark auburn hair spiked out in a halo. I saw her cross her legs and wrap her arms around herself as if needing protection from the older woman that sat across the table.
The older woman leaned forward. Her hand touched the scarf she wore, straightening it over her bald head. I could not hear her whispered words, but when she finished, I noticed the young woman in black wore tears.