"No, Terry, all I'm saying is that these cold cuts are divine."
I try to interrupt him.
"Hey, man-"
"Deee-vine."
"Come on, Craig, don't say divine here. The demons get uncomfortable."
A pair of imps over by the steaks cringe. I mouth an apology. Craig doesn't really notice. Some angels get caught up in showmanship. Gotta be respectful to all kinds in the Meat Market. He opens his mouth again.
"Well, they're to die for!"
I wince.
"Craig, there's a ghost right there! I don't think he heard you, but geez, man. You can't talk like that. This is the one place in the universe we can all be civil with each other."
For some reason, this extradimensional bastion of peace was a meat market in Pittsburgh. Probably because God has a sense of humor.I was just here to get ground beef. There's a big cookout on Saturday and Saint Paul asked me to do the hamburgers. We're planning on using sinners instead of charcoal; apparently it's more fuel-efficient.Anyway, Craig tagged along because he's trying to open a sandwich shop on 31st and Holy Road. Apparently newly dead people really miss a good turkey sub, so he's trying to capitalize on that. He's trying to figure out what selection of meats to sell, and I have a feeling he'll-
"HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT CAPICOLA HAM?"
Shut up, Craig, please, for God's sake. Do not yell "capicola ham" across the store.
"I'm sure it's a good call."
"WHAT ABOUT BALL-TIP SIRLOIN? WHAT ABOUT LIKE A SAVORY SALAMI? CAN I GET YOUR THOUGHTS ON ANTONIONI HAM? HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT A NICE FIRE-ROASTED CHICKEN BREAST?"
skwod, I didn't know where to go from here. I just think an angel screaming names of meats across a crowded store is funny. This is all I've got.
