“How was I supposed to know you don’t have a credit card number!”
“I’m from Hell!”
“But the bankers all live there, so…” Millie kept flipping the pages of her cookbook, “… is there a twitter account?”
“Why can’t I use yours!?” The demon huddled under Millie’s blue and white cotton tablecloth, bundled up like a babushka off to winter market. Blinds shut, Millie slapped the book down and grimaced.
“I hate it when friends owe me money. I can never see them and be friendly with money hanging over our heads.”
“…. friends?” The demon blinked. “Please, lady. Just call the priest.”
“You make nothing in your life easy, don’t you?”
“Ummmm clearly I can’t even make chicken soup!”