payment

B. held out a twenty, and I reached over with my ten. 

"You can't let him pay," I said. "It's his birthday weekend."

"Her money's no good here," B. retorted. "She's a communist."

I thought the fuel station guy in the orange vest might burst with the force of his laughter. "I've never heard that one before!" he said.

"Heard what?" the young cashier said, as he came up and took B.'s twenty.

"Oh, I just said that her money is no good here," B. said, "because she's a communist."

I handed the cashier my ten and plucked the twenty out of his hand, giving it back to B.

"And it's his birthday weekend," I said. "I'm paying."

Did you know that they make BLT flavored chips? I am mildly repulsed, even though they don't taste that bad.

"How do they make these?" B. asked, sitting down by the river.

"According to the side of the package, they start with potatoes and add the fresh flavors of bacon, tomato, and lettuce," I said.

Ew.