The Devil's Soul
🅿🅰🆁🅺🅴🆁
And now I'm sitting here.
Who would have thought that I'd be eating potato soup with Satan one day?
Is this what my mom meant when she wished for me to achieve extraordinary things?
Is this what my aunt meant when she looked at me disappointedly and said that I'd be 'going places'?
Despite the liquid lunch, I must have chugged two liters of water already. Warm water I might add.
They do not have freezers here. But warm water is a lot less disgusting when you're drying out like a raisin in heat.
"How are you enjoying your soup?" Stan looks at me with interest in his eyes, using every chance he has to build a conversation with his guest.
Usually I don't enjoy small talk but I want to give him the joy, considering this man (can I call him a man?) must be pretty lonely down here.
"It's alright. The stone plate adds an interesting taste. But you could have used some of the salt I traveled with."