Thousand: Two Hundred Fifty-Nine

he eats them, as though ravenous, spilling flakes of glaze and doughnut crumbs, powdered sugar and jam filling flecking his lips. The pigeon hops down to peck away at the pretzels Ed has crumbled and spread on the soft top of the Mazerati convertible they are using as a table. I have a mission for you, Ed says. Samuel crams three doughnut holes in his mouth. I need you to find something. Something that will affect the harmony of the universe. Samuel slurps latte, burns his tongue, which makes his eyes water and his jaws tense up. His eyes blaze