“Where’s your God now?” pitches Marjorie, selling past the close. “Slammy’s. We never claimed we’re divine. Except, of course, for our hot apple pies. Mmm-mmm. Slammy’s.”

“Hypno Joe’s coffee is delicious with hot apple pie,” Hypno Joe’s voice injects into my hypnotic trance.

I try to ignore him, but in this state, I find myself highly suggestible.

“All right, one bag,” I say.

“Great. I’ll ring it up. It’ll be ready to go when you awaken.”