God sat at the kitchen table, smoking one of her menthols, trying to blow smoke rings and failing.
“I think it works better if you don’t inhale,” she said, dropping the straining plastic grocery bags on the kitchen floor. One of them split. An orange escaped and rolled out to the other room. They both watched it go.
“You could have done something about that,” she said.
God shrugged. She put the things away and asked if he was hungry. God said he couldn’t stay much longer, that he just wanted to pop in real quick.
She asked what for.