Baron Samedi watches as I pour out the wine and measure the grain. He makes sure I don’t have a chance to steal some for my poor, shrunken belly; to sift through in search of something special. It’s not fair, but he knows me too well; isn’t prepared to risk the loss.
Erzulie is different, sweeter, sloppier. She would turn a blind eye, figuring ‘What are the odds?’ Not the Baron, though.
The other loas will be here soon. They always gather before a ceremony, to drink, eat, gamble. Their poker chips are souls…
The rest lives here http://www.dailycabal.com/