I contacted Jacqueline Kennedy through a medium and was instructed to go to Starbucks, something I had never done before since I do not drink coffee.
Luckily, there are plenty of Starbucks in the town where I live, Walnut Creek, California, just northeast of San Francisco.
I chose the Starbucks nearest me which was actually within walking distance from my home. During the short jaunt I thought about everything I was told by Mrs. Kennedy during the seance.
I was exhilarated at the thought of how she described heaven, but I was particularly interested in the idea of the Two Witnesses and the first thing I did after the seance was to go to the Internet and look them up.
I was surprised at how many entries there are about them, but the consensus seems to be that no one really knows who they are, when they will appear, and what their specific purpose is.
The Starbucks was packed and very noisy, but there were plenty of newspapers to read, piles everywhere, and so I picked up a paper, found a big overstuffed chair and plopped down to await whatever was supposed to happen.
But nothing did. For forty-five minutes I sat there while the chatty crowd milled about creating the worst commotion I ever experienced in a retail environment.
Everyone seemed to be yelling either at the person next to them or on their cell phone.
Numerous patrons were pounding away at their laptops and everyone seemed to be in a state of anxiety that was quite alarming.
I felt very uncomfortable and regarded the experience as a form of torture to which I simply would not allow myself to be subjected to any longer.
So, looking at the clock and seeing that nearly an hour had passed by, I got up quickly and went to the door where a knock-out blond was also exiting.
Being the consummate gentleman, I held the door open for her which she appreciated very much, giving me a blinding smile that nearly melted my kneecaps.
Utterly distracted by her, I did not see the fellow who was coming in and slammed into him with some force nearly knocking him over, the material that he was holding, scattering all over the sidewalk.
Rather stunned at the brutal encounter, I apologized profusely, but he found it all amusing and looked at me with benevolence.
"It's okay," he said. "It's just my diary. Must be a sign."
"You believe in signs?" I asked.
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