On a raw autumn morning, Chris Pine stands in the rotating shadow of the hulking old [Wonder Wheel]. He digs in his jeans pocket, and deposits fifty cents. Grandma creaks to life and runs a finger across the fan of tarot cards on the table before her. Her prophecies are delivered on two-by-four-inch yellow cards, printed sometime in the past century by the mystics at the Mike Munves Corp., New York, then stacked, loaded, and left here to slumber, waiting for the day when a budding movie star would come along with two quarters and a desire to learn his […]