The Palmist

On Krivaya — Crooked Street — in a provincial town, in a half-basement where kerosene was once sold, a board hangs over the door: “Kesha the Palmist. I read palms. I see a month ahead.” Kesha is twenty-seven, and he really does see — a month ahead, no further. A novel about a man who earns his living reading other people's palms, and about whoever else is writing on those palms. A new chapter every three days.