The glossy plastic bag was sealed with a twist-tie. Easy. It would only take a few drops, Michael had said. Just drip, drip, and done. I undid the cap in my pocket, twisting my right-hand fingers carefully around the precious little bottle, its chips and dents only noticeable to my sweaty grip. The bread looked at me; it knew that it wouldn’t be at fault. The plump thing opened perfectly! Hardly a crinkle. Clear liquid, that glorious poison, fell peacefully onto the top slice, then I sealed my bread friend, put him back on the shelf where he wanted to be. Twist-ties! Michael would be thrilled. The “twenty-four hour” signs in the store windows flashed as I sauntered into the parking lot. The bar down the road was bustling. I unlocked the pickup truck, climbed into its front seat. And waited.