Zechariah felt like he was watching a hamster run its wheel, and it was glorious. By design, not a single word had been left a scant one syllable when he could exhaust the eye’s breath with three.

He started to reach for the wine, but then recognized it immediately. It was kosher. He hated kosher wine. Kosher wine was for services and appearances. Instead, he fixed an already closed pocket as though that had been what he had intended to do the entire time.

“It is a business contract,” Zechariah dismissed, “not a will.” With an air of charity, he amended: “But if you prefer a witness – by all means.”