Congratulations on Your Delicious Encounter with Fish and Chips!

You’ll have been in the desert for five days when he comes to you. He’ll float a few feet above the ground on beating wings, a smile splitting his triangle face from side to side, naked teeth dull against the bleaching sun. He won’t say anything at first, just flit about you as you stumble forward. You’ll feel his eyes upon you, measuring you, deciding if you’re worth his time. After a few moments he’ll speak.

“Wha ye gotten to be harr, lad?” he’ll droll out in a thick Scottish accent. He’ll hang in front of your face as he says it, trying to make you stop but dragging himself forward at the same pace you’re limping.

“What?” you’ll say. You’ll not have heard a person in days by this point, and his thick accent will have made him incomprehensible.

“Is there something you’d like?” he’ll say, taking care to enunciate each syllable. You’ll take in his words like the water that left you early that morning. It’ll make you pause for the first time in days. This, after all, is why you’ll be there, walking for days on end.

“A moment to think,” you’ll say.

He’ll smile wide. “Done.”

You’ll wince, lips cracking with the gesture. You should’ve known better, you’ll think to yourself, than to let a slip of the tongue cost you something so valuable. You’ll lick your mouth and taste your own blood before smiling at him. This time the pain will be worth it.

“A way home when we are finished here,” you’ll say, blinking and swaying with the effort of speech.

He’ll nod, still smiling. “Done,” he’ll say, opening and glancing at his pocket watch as he does so. “And your last?”

You’ll rack your brain for the most important of your two previous wishes, but you won’t be able to remember either of them. The combination of “reefer addiction” and the five days without sleep will have ruined your capacity for memory. All you’ll be able to think about is food and student loans. You’ll be like a new college graduate. After nearly a full minute standing still, feeling the blood pool in your muscles, you’ll stumble upon a phrase that sound right.

“The object of my greatest desire,” you’ll say, falling to your knees as you do so.

“Done.” he’ll say, eyes flaring for a moment in his skull and then fading into the background of your one bedroom apartment. It will be just as you left it months ago, tattered couch and expensive TV offsetting the beige carpet and white plaster walls. The only new thing will be a few orders of fish and chips. They’ll be packaged in white paper bags and tinfoil, clearly from a Scottish market in some small town somewhere where they still cook and sell the local catch on a daily basis.

You’ll feel a little annoyed until your stomach grumbles and hunger sets in. Then you’ll fill a glass of water, pound it down, fill another and sit down at the table. What follows will be the single most profound fish and chips based experience of your life. When you finish you’ll feel a little sick, but it will be a good sort of nausea, the kind that reminds you of the wonder you just held in your mouth. Two orders of fish and chips will remain.

You’ll stumble up from the table, wondering if they’ll taste as good once they’ve been reheated as you walk to the phone to call the record store and tell them that your vacation is going to take a day longer than you expected. You hope your manager will understand.

Congratulations on Your Delicious Encounter With Fish and Chips!