This dialoue was actually an assignment given in an intensely boring english class. We were studying this poem called the "Talisman" by some indian poet. The gist of it was the story of a fellow who couldn't get a job anywhere. A palmist gives him a talisman; which is basically a screw of paper with some writing that he's ordered not to read; and promises him that his fortune will change. However, it doesn't and the bloke decides to commit suicide. Wanting to see what was written on the talisman, he opens it to find some encouraging message and lo! the next day he lands a job.
Our assignment was to write a dialogue between the unemployed young man and the palmist. I did just that, but unfortunately, this shall be a forever unfinished work, as my flow of creativity was stemmed by the ringing of a bell.
The unemployed young man is sitting under a tree and brooding gloomily over his fate.
UYM (sigh) : How unlucky I am.

He hears a voice that seems to rise from the bowels of the earth.
P: Luck is but a wandering thing,
Who knows when, what it may bring.
But palms they speak nought but the truth.
What fools may say, let them forsooth!
Cross my palm with silver or gold
And I will tell you all to be told.

UYM: I'm hallucinating! An effect of being turned down on five jobs in a row in one day, I suppose.

P: You do not dream my voice, boy
Nor is this game or ploy.
Turn your head and look around
And see all your miseries unfound.

UYM (He finally finds the palmist sitting on the other side of the tree): Ha! it was you all along. Who are you anyway?

P: Cleverness is not a quality my friend,
that you possess as I portend.
I tought my words sufficiently clear.
But you listen not to what you hear.
I tell your fortunes, bare your palm.
I am a PALMIST! Hey, just be calm.

UYM: Okay, okay, I'm fine. Only, you don't have to yell like that. Do you always talk in poetry?

P(smugly): It is a trick I rather fancy.
My clients seem impressed, so I see.
But words are wasted so let us begin,
Here's my pouch, just put the silver in.

UYM: My Mum told me never to trust fortune tellers.

P: That good lady must have been
Sadly incapacitated, so it does seem.
But then to have a son like you,
Would certainly addle her brain, mine too.

UYM: Well, I guess it can't hurt. (extends his plam)

P: The silver first...

UYM: You don't bother much about rhyme when talking about cash, do you?

P(patiently) : ...Or you shall be cursed.

UYM: Pooh! here.
(He gives the palmist some money. The palmist seems satisfied and begins to read his palm.)

P( After inspecting for a long time, looks up) : Your fortunes will improve,
The lines say so.
Your future is bright,
Now you may go.

UYM: What??? I gave you all the money I had left to hear something I left home to stop hearing?

P: Fool! My words shall not be repeated.
Oh, I an getting really quite heated.
You question me? A seer of such repute?
You are not worthy to polish my boot!
Move along or I might just
Grind you with my feet into dust.

UYM: Goodness Sir, do not get heated.
I beg you to please be seated....
Oh my God! I'm doing it too.

This is where I was stopped both by the bell and a lack of ideas. The young man could of course hang himself and do literature a service, but how to bring that about plausibly was beyond my imagination. So, incomplete it shall always remain.