The Illusion

"Sir, in a few minutes you will thank me."

"What are you talking about?"

"For not taking a penny from this change cup."

"Whatever."

"Who won?"

"Huh?"

"The game, who won?"

"Oh, the Braves."

"You're new at Hartsfield?"

"New in Atlantis, Period."

"I see. Enjoy your day."

Arch-Angel Ganja, guardian of State Secrets and their implications, folded the newspaper under his arm and proceeded towards the MARTA train station. Berlin was now only thirteen minutes away. He had been Class-1 Certified for seven years now, but it still always tickled him that Dresden, Germany functionally existed nestled obscurely off Atlanta's main carriageway, as the assets of Adolf Hitler's only living descendants. And they were a nice bunch, but their newest son, he was the devil. They needed an exorcist for his ass.

"The Kingdom of God is at hand..."
"Where is Ganja..."
"Two minutes from eternity..."
"Keep your fingers crossed..."
"And those of you so inclined, on the trigger..."
"As you say..."