He keeps dealing and turning over cards until he finds one
that he believes applies; though, even now, only obliquely.
'You had a choice of 15 goes,' says Jonny.
'I just think all this is... we're not proper psychics, you know.'
'I am,' says Rob.
'No, you're not, youth,' says Jonny. 'You think you are, but you're not.'
They start bickering.
'Youth, I am.'
'You're not, youth. You're really not.'
'I am.'
'Bless you for thinking you are... but you're not.'
'I fucking am,' says Rob, firmly.
'You're not,' shouts Jonny.
'No, I am, youth,' insists Rob.
'Youth, you're not,' says Jonny. 'You're a singer. Songwriter.'
'I'm also psychic,' says Rob stubbornly.
This has been a real row at some points,
but now he's also just trying to wind Jonny up.
'I'm slightly worried,' says Jonny,
'because you think you're Mystic Meg now. You're not psychic...'
'Alright, youth,' says Rob, brandishing the cards,
'how about this: will you and me know each other, be in each other's lives, in five years?'
'That's a horrible question,' objects Jonny. 'That's horrible. That's a horrible question.'
'Why are you bothered what the card would say?' asks Rob.
'Because you shouldn't question friendship,' says Jonny.
Rob picks up three cards. They don't seem to comment on the matter either way.
'I can't be psychic when I'm tired,' Rob says.
And they're off again.
'You're not psychic,' says Jonny.
'Fuck you, I am!' says Rob.
'You're not, you dick! You're not psychic.'
'You really mean that, don't you?' says Rob, amused.
'Yes. You are not psychic. What makes you think that you're psychic? Tell me.'
'I just know I am.'