🔼 Daily Horoscopes for June 2nd, 2025


Written under a half-chewed moon and the vague smell of chili dogs.


♈ Aries
A train will whistle three times. That’s not a signal—it’s a dare. Today you’ll feel pulled toward forbidden snacks or unmarked doors. Follow neither without a raccoon chaperone.

♉ Taurus
You’ll feel like a trash fire’s warm embrace today. Stable, glowing, slightly dangerous. Let folks gather around your vibe, but don’t let anyone roast marshmallows off your soul.

♊ Gemini
Someone will hand you a pamphlet titled “The Truth About Spoons.” Take it. The truth may be disturbing, but your inner twins love a good cutlery scandal.

♋ Cancer
Today you might cry during a commercial about butter. That’s okay. Emotions are just the soup sloshing in your inner thermos. Sip slowly.

♌ Leo
The spotlight finds you—even under a bridge. Strut your stuff, roar your truth, and maybe audition for that traveling raccoon circus. You will be noticed.

♍ Virgo
Order will flee you like a scared possum. Embrace the chaos: mismatched socks, forgotten keys, cryptic subway poetry. The path is in the mess.

♎ Libra
Balance is overrated today. Tip over. Wobble. Let your decisions be guided by whichever foot has fewer blisters. The world’s already spinning—lean into it.

♏ Scorpio
Secrets follow you like carrier pigeons with grudges. Today, one will arrive wearing a tiny vest. Decode its message and destroy it immediately.

♐ Sagittarius
You’ll be compelled to run toward something. A dream, a taco truck, or a well-dressed goose. Go. Today favors the bold and lightly confused.

♑ Capricorn
You’ll question everything—your path, your soup recipe, the nature of pants. Good. Mystery is the meat in the stew of wisdom. Don’t forget to stir.

♒ Aquarius
A song will loop in your head all day. That’s not an accident. The cosmos put it there. Try humming it in front of strangers and watch doors unlock—some literal, some metaphorical.

♓ Pisces
Dreams take on strange flavors—like peanut butter and prophecy. Keep a notebook near your pillow. Or a sock. Or a particularly receptive cabbage. Something wants to be remembered.


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About the author

Hobo Harry, a self-proclaimed cosmic conduit and wandering mystic, reads the stars through the gleam of empty bean cans, blending street-born wisdom with celestial insight. Since a vision in a Toledo puddle in ’81, he’s roamed the rails, practicing his unique methods of can-gazing, soot-whispering, and trashfire meditation to divine the Zodiac’s secrets. Hobo Harry invites all wanderers to pull up a crate and listen to what the cans have to say.