Arrival

On the third day, as was foretold, we entered the promised land of milk and peanut butter. And the Trinity was waiting, he and she and she were waiting, with the crusts cut clean from their holy sammiches. Their blue polo shirts shone with crumbs and their pudgy hands clutched chalices of lowfat milk. Crates of juice boxes filled the garage with plenty. And we cried, lo, this is the land we have come to, let us all pile into the back seat of the car and rejoice. And there was singing. And the song spoke of a hobo man on our shoulder. We chose to let him live. We chose to eat string cheese in the sun.