Look, Officer, it's like I told you before. I can't explain how I do it. It's an art, not a science. But just because I can't explain, that doesn't mean I'm a fake.

What? Yes, we did have this conversation before, even if you don't remember it.

Uh--'65, I think. That's it, 1965. In New Orleans.

Of course you were a cop! You're always a cop, I'm always a psychic. Gets pretty dull, actually. And the kid is always--

Sure, the same kid. Well, not exactly. Different kid, same entity. He pays for a reading, I tell him he's the reincarnation of Jesse James, he goes and holds up a bank. Regular as clockwork. He'll probably still be doing it three hundred years from now.

What do you want me to do? Lie to him? I tell him he was never a good bank robber! Better he should stick with stagecoaches.

And better you should stick with investigating homicides. That's where your talent lies. Any chance you could get yourself transferred? Hey, let me tell you about the serial killer you nailed in Scotland back in 1840...!

(The End)