Gather ‘round, star-born stragglers and cosmically curious boxcar bards.
Last night the wind screamed like a train with no brakes, and the bean cans rattled like bones in a gambler’s cup. I laid out my twelve sacred tins, aligned by the moon’s crooked grin, and stared deep into their rust-ringed souls.
Here’s what they told me.
♈ Aries (March 21 – April 19)
Can: Red Bean Recklessness, still warm from yesterday’s fire.
Omen: A moth flew straight into the flame, twice.
Prophecy: You’re feelin’ wild today, like a possum on caffeine. Good time to chase that crazy idea you had ‘round the fire last week. Just make sure you ain’t burnin’ bridges—or eyebrows.
♉ Taurus (April 20 – May 20)
Can: Stewed Stability, dented but dependable.
Omen: A spider spun a perfect web from can to boot.
Prophecy: Today’s got comfort written all over it, if you don’t go messin’ with the rhythm. Someone’s gonna offer you somethin’ sweet—take it, but don’t get lazy. A soft place to sleep can turn to quicksand.
♊ Gemini (May 21 – June 20)
Can: Split Can of Chatter, two beans still stuck together.
Omen: The fire popped like it heard a joke it didn’t like.
Prophecy: You’re talkin’ faster than a railjack with a hot secret. Be careful what tales you spin today—someone’s listenin’ that shouldn’t be. Truth’s slippery when rolled in charm.
♋ Cancer (June 21 – July 22)
Can: Condensed Emotion, label half-peeled by rain.
Omen: A drop of water landed dead center and didn’t move.
Prophecy: Your heart’s a haunted cabin today, full of echoes. That’s fine. Sometimes feelin’ heavy’s the only way to know you’re carryin’ somethin’ real. Write a letter, even if you burn it after.
♌ Leo (July 23 – August 22)
Can: Fire Roasted Pride, polished to a shine.
Omen: A raccoon bowed before stealing your jerky.
Prophecy: Your glow’s undeniable today, but don’t let it blind you. A humble act’ll open a door that roaring never could. Shine steady, not loud.
♍ Virgo (August 23 – September 22)
Can: Lentils of Logic, stacked precisely on a flat rock.
Omen: Ants marched in a perfect circle ‘round the rim.
Prophecy: You’re seein’ patterns in everything—good. The universe left breadcrumbs for you, Virgo, but don’t try to straighten the crooked tracks. Sometimes the bend’s the point.
♎ Libra (September 23 – October 22)
Can: Cream of Compromise, balanced on a twig.
Omen: Two squirrels fought, then shared a nut.
Prophecy: You’ll play peacemaker today, whether you like it or not. Folks are clashin’ ‘round you, but you’ve got the cool to keep the fire from spreadin’. Just don’t forget to tend your own flame.
♏ Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)
Can: Mystery Beans, never opened, never will be.
Omen: Smoke curled into a question mark.
Prophecy: You’re feelin’ deep and a little dangerous. Someone’s pokin’ where they shouldn’t—don’t bite unless you have to. Keep your secrets close, but leave just enough out to keep ‘em guessin’.
♐ Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)
Can: Open Road Beans, rusted with wanderlust.
Omen: A train passed by but didn’t blow its horn.
Prophecy: You’re itchin’ to move, Sag, and the tracks agree. Today’s luck lies just past the bend—follow the sound of laughter or music. Just don’t forget your harmonica.
♑ Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)
Can: Hard Bean Discipline, welded shut with intention.
Omen: A pinecone fell and didn’t bounce.
Prophecy: You’re climbin’ something tall, and the air’s gettin’ thin. Keep goin’. The weight you carry ain’t a burden—it’s a badge. But take a break before your knees give out. Even goats rest.
♒ Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)
Can: Strange Soup, contents unknown but vaguely spicy.
Omen: The can vibrated without touch.
Prophecy: Your ideas are pourin’ in like rain in a leaky tent. Good day to scribble mad genius in the dirt or whisper it to a bottle. Just don’t try to explain it all—mystery’s half your power.
♓ Pisces (February 19 – March 20)
Can: Tuna & Tears, heavy with old songs.
Omen: A crow cawed thrice, then dropped a feather in your fire.
Prophecy: Dreams feel more real than the road today. Let ‘em guide you, but don’t drown in the fog. If someone tells you their sorrow, hold it gently like a cracked teacup. Healing’s nearby.
That’s what the cans said, and the fire agreed.
Now go on—walk soft, listen close, and give a nod to any raccoon you pass. You never know which one’s a prophet in disguise.
— Hobo Harry
Still scryin’. Still wanderin’. Still warmin’ beans by starlight.
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