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[sub][color=fff79a]San Francisco, California - Dark Ideas (Psychic Readings & Enlightenment)[/color][/sub][/center]

[color=gray][sub][i]Money meant a lot to Simon Hart.[/i] 
It was the difference between his childhood and where he stood now. Of course, many had tried to have him believe things like "money isn't everything" or "you should find joy in what you do and money will follow". He mostly attributed these teachings to [i]bullshit[/i]. Simon Hart had seen what it was like to be poor in San Francisco, hell, he'd [i]lived[/i] it and there was no joy to be found in crawling through the slums to afford a sandwich at the corner store. Money was [i]everything[/i] and if he intended to stay on top of the game, he'd need to keep his audience.

The problem with Simon Hart was that he couldn't ever just... stay on one venture. It had started with petty theft (which had quickly grown boring) and it had escalated into dealings with money launderers. He didn't consider himself a criminal, not really, just someone very [i]familiar[/i] with criminals. [i]Sure, he'd hacked a few things, transferred a couple hundred dollars into his own accounts, lobster-trapped a few ATM cards- [b]sure[/b], but he wasn't a [b]criminal[/b].[/i] Personally he thought that "criminal" was a very dirty word to describe someone with.

He liked to consider himself an... [i]entrepreneur[/i]. He was constantly scheming and planning and cooking up new ideas all in the pursuit of gaining [i]money[/i]. He was [i]good[/i] at it too, absolutely fucking [i]great[/i] at it. It wasn't [i]criminal[/i] to have a talent, was it? It wasn't [i]criminal[/i] to be [i]good[/i] at something. After his divorce with Erin, he had fallen into a slump, a dark, dark pit where he had thought he was doomed to stay. She had moved on, started dating some blond guy and taken their cat and he was just [i]stuck[/i].

He had remained [i]stuck[/i] for nearly four months and it had taken a lot of work on the behalf of [b]Amalia Mendoza[/b] to even get him [i]moving[/i] again. Once he [i]did[/i] start moving though, he'd fallen into his latest scheme and [i]that[/i] was Dark Ideas. Dark Ideas was nothing special, a shitty little storefront he'd purchased on a whim but he'd turned it into a home of sorts. A ridiculous, terrible little home. The bulk of his business was rich, old white ladies and edgy people with tattoos. He [i]kind[/i] of liked it that way.

He didn't know if he would stick to this gig forever but for now it was amusing. Mostly it was amusing how people just ate up whatever faux-prophetic nonsense he spat. He had gotten pretty good at cold-reading but it was still no exact science, every so often he'd fumble a name or a guess and he'd spend the next few minutes trying to recover his image. Sometimes people would cut the session short and demand a refund when he fumbled, sometimes they'd threaten him. He was learning to roll with the punches (sometimes literally).

Between running his business and counting his money, he hardly had time to worry about what was going on around the city. [i]Heroes and angry government officials, it's not my business.[/i] He thought, watching the broadcast on his phone. There was always down time at Dark Ideas, quiet intervals where he could gather his thoughts or catch up with the news. [i]More and more of this hate-mongering, on both sides.[/i] He thought grimly, deciding to stop while he was ahead. [i]"Dangerous" this, "dangerous" that, if I could [b]actually[/b] read the future then I'd be [b]rolling[/b] in it. Wonder if one of those bastards is looking for a job.[/i][/sub][/color]