the smuggler’s bible

Faustus

Satan brings Faustus a deal—wrapped in paper, tied with ribbon—and a bottle of plaquebiere.

“That’s good stuff. Monks made it.”

“Hell monks?”

“Cute,” Satan says. He takes a drag on his cigarette. “Listen, I’ve got places to be. God invented three human preternaturalities: infused knowledge, immortality and the absence of concupiscence. You know this.”

“Uh huh.”

“That,” he gestures to the deal, “gets you two out of three. The last one sucks anyway.”

He turns and is back at his car, hand on the door, when Faustus says, “Is there a catch?”

“Sure, but god invented those too.”