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The oracle perched on the counter, next to a sink stopped up with toilet paper. She wore a white bodycon dress and purple glitter smeared across her cheeks. A necklace of sweat gleamed at her throat, and beads of it shone upon her forehead. 

She had a vape pen in her hands and she took long pulls from it as she listened to a girl in tight jeans and sequins complain. “I met this guy on OkCupid,” the girl was saying. “We’re hooking up and the sex is crazy good, right? He’s fine as hell, see?” She held out her phone to show the headless selfie of a naked man, his body tanned and gleaming. “But he lied about his name or he doesn’t have social media. He’s not on Insta, not on Snapchat, not even Facebook. What the fuck? What’s he hiding?”

“Oh my god,” said the oracle. “Yes, what the actual fuck? Who does that? Only serial killers. You should like. You shouldn’t take that.” 

“Right?”

“You’re too good for this.”

“What do I do?”

“Wait ‘til he’s fucked out, then go through his pockets. Check his phone. If you can’t get in his phone, check his wallet, his driving license. See who this fucker really is.”

“You’re right,” said the girl, shedding sequins on the floor. “You’re so right. I’m gonna do that. I’m gonna call him and I’m gonna do that.”

“I love you, okay?” The oracle placed her hands on the girl’s bare shoulders, her earnest eyes all pupil. “You can do this. I’m here for you,” she said, pulling her close, resting a damp, hot cheek on her shoulder.

The OkCupid girl stepped away and another supplicant came forward. 

The oracle of the Delphi bathrooms smiled at her with lipstick on her bared teeth. “Hey, oh my god, I love your hair. It’s so pretty. You’re so pretty.” 

Tiny snake caught a tiny fish