Late Last Night, Somewhere West Of The Twin Cities

“If you think you’re in command of a single thing in this world, little man, you are sadly mistaken, and badly mistaken as well. You are in command of nothing. Your brain is shot full of holes that reveal nothing but dark cataracts of ceaselessly roiling ignorance.”

The Devil tossed his chin in the direction of the moon, cursed, and spit into the gravel of the road.

“You call this a crossroads?” he said. “You fucking people want to call everything a crossroads. Why? Because it puts a little drama in your life? What do I know.”

He stood in the middle of the road and looked one way and then the other, swiveled on his heels and repeated the process in the opposite direction. The Devil shrugged, and lit a cigarette.

“Maybe this is a crossroads,” he said. “But it’s no metaphor. There’s never a metaphor involved whenever I make an appearance. Which means? Which means I have no interest in your soul. Zero interest. You know what a soul is? It’s a useless little bladder about the size of a grape, as expendable as your tonsils or appendix. No, sir, do I look like I’m out of my mind? I wouldn’t trade a stinking thing for your measly soul. What I’m after is that bigger meat behind your eyes. I want your mind.

“You people like to imagine that I’m some kind of deal maker, the proprietor of some forlorn open-all-night swapshop. That’s a terrible misconception on your part, friend, just another of those convenient fabrications you can’t seem to live without. Dispatch with that notion and you fuckers would run out of stories to tell each other in a hurry.

“And, wrong-headed as it is, that’s just fine with me. Fabrications, delusions, and –even better– bald-faced lies are nothing but good news to me, as they get you in hot water with The Adversary. Still, it rankles. It sticks in my craw.

“Let me ask you something: Do I look red to you? Do you see a tail or horns or a pitchfork, or whatever the hell it is I’m supposed to brandish? Do I look so insecure that I need to wear some kind of costume to indicate loud and clear that I’m the bad guy? Here’s a little piece of wisdom you can take back to your people: Don’t be such damn fools. Use a little common sense, would you? Wouldn’t you think that incognito would be the way to go for a fellow in my line of work? I’d certainly think so, but no, you keep expecting this drama, some pint-sized dragon to show up at the crossroads in the middle of the night, gung ho to give you your heart’s desire in exchange for the worthless polyp you call your soul.

“Fat fucking chance. If you think I’m going to trade you a perfectly good guitar –let alone the ability to play the hell out of it– for that, you’re out of your minds.”