The Painting
Like an icon for some minor but ardently worshiped deity, the painting stands behind a giant molcajete of guacamole, its colors splashier even than patrons usually expect from a Mexican restaurant, the painting, that is; the guacamole is just green. “That’s got to have a dozen avocados,” she says aloud, and although no one can hear her, the canvas vibrates lightly with her words. “This party is going to be a real wingding. Unless guacamole is all there is.” She watches as the two that brought her…
