"Well, my dear," he said, because this was definitely not the first - though hopefully maybe the last, since he'd left the role of a salesman behind, or so he'd hoped - time he'd talked about this. "Say you want something - no, you need something. Your very existence seems to depend on it. You head out to a crossroads - one that isn't paved, so hard to find in this age of technology - and you bury a little box of voodoo, and the next thing you know you've summoned a crossroads demon."

He motioned to her with his glass. "Each human body houses a soul," he said. "They're very valuable. Hell will pay almost any earthly price for one. Your crossroads demon makes most of the deals. It's the stuff of all the good horror movies and urban legends."

Finally setting aside the glass, he added, "And I definitely mean to brag when I say I am famous, but alas, I've yet to inspire a good song."