E6

Through the thick, hazy glass the book editor spied the yellow bag, whose colorful contents she knew would make the day's final chapter easier to read. She placed dimes and nickels in a fitted slit until through the dirty plastic screen above a red number 70, the high yet magic number needed to extract the yellow bag, shown.

It was time to press the item's letter-number combination, time to press the two slick buttons that would release the yellow bag from its hypnotizing captor. It was then the editor noticed that the bag's edge hung below the sticker below the bag that indicated what the letter and number were. A brief and necessary panic hit her chest: I can't see the combination!

But before looking at the items on either side of the yellow bag to determine the bag's combination, she let her hand raise, unrestricted, to the rows of letters and numbers on the right side of the machine. Only half aware of what was pressed she watched in subdued excitement as the yellow bag twisted free and fell with a chunk to the cavity below.

She retrieved the yellow bag and consumed its contents in spite of the tacos and dirt Kevin would be serving two hours later. The tacos were just a dream, and a dream can't get you through bland and obsure reports on the status of the hospitality industry around the world. But candy can. Peanuts covered in chocolate and decorated with a candy shell can. Kevin will forgive her. And she'll still eat a taco.