In Yoda We Trust

“That’s right. Named for the Archangel himself.” Now it was my turn for my eyes to widen. From movies to Christianity, it seems.

“That’s quite the burden your parents gave you,” she continued, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her blue jeans, one of her feet, decked in checkered Chuck Taylors, stepping on the other. “Fiery sword, slaying dragons and demons. You don’t have a shiny breastplate and wings tucked underneath the trench, do you?” We never left movies, apparently.

I laughed. “No, sorry. I left my Holy Avenger in my other coat.” But now we’re on RPGs. I figured the Yoda shirt left the door open for that.

All of a sudden, one of her jeans pockets started playing KC and the Sunshine Band.

“Crap,” she uttered, reaching for her cell phone, flipping it open. On the caller’s end, a female voice was shouting. “Yeah yeah—mom, alright I’m on my way—I’ll see you in a minute, okay? You won’t be late—”

She shut the clamshell phone closed, snapping with an audible click.

She sighed. “I gotta go.”

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