/lit/ - Literature

"You're not gonna believe it, but this here's a treasure map!" squealed Carol, loud enough so the two truckers in the next booth over could have heard if they didn't look like they were about to doze off into their mess of overcooked hash browns and scrambled eggs.
"Lower your decibels, Carol, jeez."
She squealed again but was definitely quieter this time, her tail shimmying behind her. For as long I'd known her, which is longer than I've known anybody pretty much anyone, when Carol was happy about something, she couldn't hide it. The smug grin she'd get on her face could be seen by probably be seen like aliens, who would then be scared off because the people on this planet would be seen as way too friendly.

The picture Carol was showing me barely looked like a drawing, let alone like anything somebody could make out like a map. There were a couple of squiggly stick lines in each corner that looked like trees, which tells you basically nothing because we're in the suburbs and trees are everywhere. In the middle--or what I'm gonna assume should by all means and actual logic be the middle--was a drawing of some flat, not-too-short-but-not-too-tall-rectangles with tiny squares on them (buildings?) circled and marked with a big X, with the circle and the X the only two things that actually look like anything.
"Carol," I told her. "This is just a grease-stained napkin covered in some druggo's
pen scratch, I could crap a better map than this."
"Yeah, well, a greasy napkin can be a treasure map if it wants," she said.
"What? No, it can't."
"Yes, it can."
"No, it--" I had to stop myself. Carol was an expert in the debating style of 5-year-olds, she could go on back-and-forth like this all night, she'd just wait until the other person got worn out and consider that a win.