I remember a shred of a song about seeing the Devil late one afternoon, sitting crouched on a traffic sign.
Who do you come for? the singer asks.
Not for you is the Devil’s answer. Not for you, today.
But you’re the Devil! the chorus goes.
You’re the Devil and a liar and an ugly cheat!
The Devil just laughs and vanishes, leaving his tattered coat, a torn black plastic bag, flapping wildly, stuck in a nearby tree.
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