Dinner # 27
We use a Ouija board to predict modest events. “What will we eat for dinner tonight?” Alice asked out loud, and it spelled, in her capable hands, “S-P-A-G-H-E.”
“Jesus, again?” asked Nancy, as the pointer moved to the “T.”
Alice nudged the pointer to the “Yes” at the top of the board.
I had stolen the pasta, in brown burlap sacks on top of the refrigerator, after quitting Papeneli’s. We’d eaten nothing else in four weeks.
“Maybe we’d have better luck with Scrabble,” said Nancy. “How many points is Vermicelli?”
“Like seven billion,” I said. “Or maybe less,” remembering that I was stoned.