the smuggler’s bible


Poinsettia flies off the handle when the clerk tells her about the terms and conditions. The rack of festive cards and novelty ornaments hits the floor and she makes a break for it in the commotion. A manager almost gets a hand on her—almost—but then she is away, clambering up a shelf and disappearing into an air vent.

The last anyone sees of her is the grinning snowflake on her sweater.

But on cold nights, they say, you can hear her in the walls, humming Christmas carols while she searches forever for the perfect roll of wrapping paper.