Jimmy gasped, spun once in panic, then fled down the hall.
He returned with a box, steeped in grease and ancient time.
“There’s evidence here,” he said, beaming proud and fine,
As paper rained down like greasy snow across the wall.
Yet Jimmy dumped more of his box to seal his case.
“Look! I have burgers, tacos! These don’t decay.”
As a chair went wide, another slip escaped, refusing to stay.
Sebastian sucked in a breath and pinched his face.
Sebastian stepped aside from Jimmy’s sliding proof.
“You’re burying the table,” came his sardonic bite.
“With truth,” said Jimmy, “It should have weight and height.”
The shoebox puffed and sighed, defeated yet aloof.
“Next time I speak I’ll choose my words with more respect.”
Jimmy grinned, one receipt folded proud within his craft.
Two paths were swept back through the kitchen’s crosswise draft.
“How many more receipts are needed before truth calls check?”