Hobo Harry’s set up camp under the old water tower tonight, twelve sacred bean cans arranged in a circle ‘round the fire. Each one hums with cosmic residue from the rails, attuned to a different sign of the stars. As the raccoons dance in shadows and the wind whispers secrets through bottle caps.
♈ Aries (March 21 – April 19)
Can: Pinto #3, lid etched with a lightning bolt.
Omen: A squirrel chased its own tail ‘round the rim, then vanished.
Prophecy: You’re feelin’ feisty and fired up. Don’t pick fights with the crows—they remember. Channel that energy into fixin’ up your bindle or patchin’ your boots. You’re gonna need ‘em soon.
♉ Taurus (April 20 – May 20)
Can: Baked #7, still smells faintly of molasses and regret.
Omen: The fire hissed when I stirred the ash with a rusty spoon.
Prophecy: Stay stubborn, bull, but don’t forget to listen. Someone near’s offerin’ you a warm cup and a place by the trash fire. Don’t snub kindness—it’s rarer than gold teeth in a toothless grin.
♊ Gemini (May 21 – June 20)
Can: Refried Duality, split down the side, patched with duct tape.
Omen: A gust knocked over your can. It rolled straight east.
Prophecy: Restlessness gnaws at you like hunger at sundown. You’re pulled in two directions—follow the louder song, even if it’s a harmonica played bad. Adventure’s waitin’ where the tracks bend.
♋ Cancer (June 21 – July 22)
Can: Cream of Mystery, label washed off in the rain.
Omen: A raccoon curled up on it, then left a button behind.
Prophecy: Home’s where your heart’s hidin’, and someone’s about to stir it up. Trust your feelin’s, even if they don’t make sense. A familiar face may wander in from the fog.
♌ Leo (July 23 – August 22)
Can: Chili Royale, burnished like gold in the firelight.
Omen: The flames rose high when you looked.
Prophecy: Strut, lion, strut! The world’s your boxcar, and you’re the only one with the key. But don’t forget—sometimes even kings need a nap in the shade. Rest before the next big roar.
♍ Virgo (August 23 – September 22)
Can: Lentil Precision, aligned just so.
Omen: The can hummed a soft, rhythmic tune.
Prophecy: You’ve been fixin’ and fidgetin’, organizin’ your rags by color. That’s fine, but let a little chaos in—beauty grows where order breaks. Today, let the breeze mess your hair.
♎ Libra (September 23 – October 22)
Can: Split Pea Balance, resting perfectly on a flat stone.
Omen: Two fireflies landed at the same time—then blinked in sync.
Prophecy: You’re standin’ at a crossroad, tryin’ to weigh the sky. Don’t freeze up. A coin flipped by moonlight will land how it should. Trust chance—she’s wiser than she looks.
♏ Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)
Can: Black Bean Secrets, lid sealed tight with tar.
Omen: Smoke spiraled counterclockwise above your seat.
Prophecy: Somethin’ deep and powerful’s bubblin’ under your skin. Today’s the day to dig. Secrets’ll come loose like nails in old planks. Use ‘em wisely, or bury ‘em deeper.
♐ Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)
Can: Cowboy Beans, stained from the desert sun.
Omen: An owl hooted thrice at dusk.
Prophecy: The tracks are callin’ louder than ever, wanderer. Your boots won’t sit still, and that’s fine. But don’t forget—every journey’s richer with someone to share the last bite.
♑ Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)
Can: Navy Grit, dented but dignified.
Omen: A coin appeared inside the can. Unexplainable.
Prophecy: Your hard work’s payin’ off. Don’t stop now. A windfall’s comin’, but only if you keep climbin’ that rickety ladder. Take the risk—even the steepest trestles can be crossed.
♒ Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)
Can: Garbanzo Enlightenment, painted with chalk glyphs.
Omen: Rain fell, but only on your can.
Prophecy: Strange dreams and stranger visions are floodin’ your brainpan. That’s the spirits talkin’. Write ‘em down in coal on the walls. One of ‘em’s the map you need next week.
♓ Pisces (February 19 – March 20)
Can: Mackerel Soup, not technically a bean, but spiritually aligned.
Omen: The reflection in the can showed a second moon.
Prophecy: Feelings flowin’ like river water, deep and full of secrets. You’ll meet someone who sees you clear—don’t swim away too fast. Let ‘em drift closer. Not every hook has bait.
Now go on, you stardust drifters. The rails don’t wait and neither do the stars. Trust the cans, and watch the smoke.
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