"Number 33!" he shouted.
A meek-looking woman holding a slip of paper approached the counter.
"Half a pound of sestina," she said.
Knot grabbed a loaf of poems from the refrigerator and sliced off a thick hunk.
"These poems aren't very good, that's why they're on sale. If they were better poems, then naturally they'd be more expensive. You may think it's strange for a so-called artist to think in those terms, but I'm doing it to test you, probably."
"Yeah, I heard you say that to the last guy."