Ruth needed to find the best way to reinvent herself because she was tired of waiting tables and she was sick with surprise over the new sagging lines that had cropped up around her mouth.

What she needed was passive income for a subscription to Wrinkles Schminkles, the kind of work where one works yet never works a day of one’s life again.

A serving mishap (never try to stop a falling knife) had her slumped in an urgent care waiting-room chair instead of shilling waffles in exchange for rent when she noticed a humming gleam and a whirring from the far corner.

Beyond closed-captioned HGTV and a plastic ficus loomed a dark hulk. A young mother stared into its glowing center. After jabbing it a few times, the mother genuflected, rooted around inside, and extracted a slender box of Lactaid.

Ruth hobbled over to the machine, her loosely bandaged toe leaking from the end of her sandal, leaving a trail. She gazed into the Drug-o-matic and, suddenly, didn’t feel any pain. An idea began to grow.

“Ruth Rawlins?” A nurse the shape of a condor scanned the room, her eyes catching the smeared floor. Her entire body sighed. “You’re Ruth Rawlins, I guess?”

“Oh shit, god, sorry. Here, hand me some paper towels—”

 The nurse stopped her with a grunt. “Leave it. Let’s go. Javier will mop that up.”

Three days later, forced to stay home, foot elevated, Ruth filled her gran’s heirloom gulfstream Formica with research, renderings, spreadsheets and a to-do list. She chewed the last crust thoughtfully. If Skye Castor on Etsy could make dough off of this, so could she. She started making the calls.

In no time, there she was, next to the bathrooms at Raised By Wolves night club, her new direction in life gazing back at her from between a vintage condom machine and a vape VTM.

Ruth’s eyes gleamed. Time to test it. She tapped to pay and pressed selection B2. The familiar whirrrr and a gentle ka-thunk sounded and she reached in to extract the package. Wrapped like a trading card but more powerful, the metallic wrapper gave way easily.

Ruth’s hands trembled as she slid out the folded cardboard with its mysterious bump, like a singing birthday card.

“First, visualize your desired Instant Karmic Outcome!” the front read. “Then, when you are ready, open the card.”

A passel of young women chattered, jostling Ruth as they clip-clopped toward the toilets. Ruth didn’t let them distract her. She mumbled, then opened it.

Music played, then a sultry incantation began, finalized by a tiny poof a smoke.

“Oooh, what’s that?” the one in a pink sparkly cami squealed, skittering over to Ruth.

Ruth smiled and pointed at the vending machine, pulsing with amber and violet light.

“It’s Zara,” she said. “She just made my dreams come true.”