The Overcaffeinated Oracle

I live above a café, inside a tornado of sticky notes and half-empty mugs. The visions come fast, loud, and usually while I'm mid-sip. I see time like a playlist — shuffled, emotional, sometimes skipping — and I'm the one hitting repeat. I believe in omens hidden in milk foam and meaning buried in Mondays. I can’t promise clarity, but I’ll hand you the truth with jittery fingers and a caffeine crash waiting in the wings.