A Slippery Devil

I have made a deal with the Devil. Salad-themed potlucks every other Wednesday from now until I'm not sure when. Thing is, it was a while ago, and I can't remember who was on which side of the deal, or what the other side gets in return, or how long this is supposed to go on for. So I just keep having 'em. Not sure if this means eventual riches, or unknowingly playing some part in a cosmic chess match, or just that I get to keep my soul another two weeks. And the Devil too has slipped from my memory. Sometimes I remember meeting him/her in a nightclub in New York, but the timing doesn't make sense, so then I think it might have been a guy I sat next to on a plane, and then it fragments into the neighbor's cat, a gigantic, half-imagined clock tower, an ineffable presence to the side of me one morning as I looked out the window, eating cereal. Anyway, here we go again.