the smuggler’s bible

Augustin

It turns out gift wrapping doesn’t cost extra. The woman at the counter folds Augustin’s decade in tissue paper before tucking the bundle into a box.

“Beautiful. I’m sure they’ll love it.”

Augustin unwraps everything again as soon as he gets home. Ten years in a little glass bottle on his kitchen table—not for anyone, really, just time spent. Of course, there is someone to share it with, but you have to enjoy thse things yourself, otherwise what’s the point?

Augustin taps the decade with a fingernail and watches it sparkle. “Suckers,” he says, smiling. “I’d have paid double.”