I Saw Satan at the 7-Eleven

Outside in the parking lot, Satan was polishing his windshield. Satan drove a Corvette, obviously. I went outside, kept my distance, eyeballed him wiping dead bugs from his wing mirrors. Clocking me, he struck a rebel pose, one foot up on the bumper, and called out, “I’m not a hippie. I’m lactose intolerant.”

“What?” I said… to Satan, “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, I’m talking to you. I saw you eyeing up my soy milk and I want to set the record straight. I’m. No. Hippie.”                   

Two miles north of Hell, a nameless deadbeat narrator spots Satan buying soy milk at the 7–Eleven. Satan’s a washed-up has-been, who’s totally lost his edge. That is until he falls in love with our narrator, and the two embark on a debauched misadventure, by turns slapstick, violent, whimsical, dreamlike and tender.

‘a spoken word performance of such obliterating intensity that I wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.’
– The Guardian on This Is How We Die

‘The bastard son of David Lynch & Stan Laurel’
 – Tim Crouch on Suicide Notes