Things are slow at Pita Kitchen, so the man behind the counter has time to go through his pockets. He separates one receipt from the rest and tosses it onto the grill. The paper burns and quickly turns to ash.
“Destroying the evidence,” he explains.
I nod as if I understand, but secretly I wonder if I’ve been implicated in some larger caper, one that may, or may not, involve grilled lamb.
“My wife can’t find out,” he says.
“She won’t,” I say. “You burned the evidence.”
We high-five, but I’m not sure why. I mean, I’m all for winning, but what if his cause is immoral or unjust? I cannot high-five to evil. So I ask about the destroyed evidence.
“I bought a new PS4 controller,” he says. “But I don’t want my wife to know because she will yell at me for spending money on video games.”
“What did you think it was?”
“Another woman’s number, maybe that you were cheating on your wife.”
“No, of course not. Just a new controller, which is bad because I’m not supposed to go to Best Buy.”
“That’s rough, man. But won’t she notice the new controller?”
“No way, Michael. She will be too busy going through my pockets looking for evidence.”