“What are you doing here, Rose?” “What do you mean?” I let out a puff of a laugh as I scan the fairgrounds, gesturing toward the motor homes and campers parked around me. “I live here.” “No. You don’t. You exist here.” It’s like a punch to the ribs, one that sucks out all my air. “This is my home.” “Yes. But you’re not yourself here anymore. You don’t seem excited to perform. You haven’t even set up your tarot tent since we started the tour.”
