“Got any fresh matches?” The Devil asked casually, leaning against my convenience store counter at 3 AM. He was wearing a wrinkled Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops, looking more like a lost tourist than the Prince of Darkness.

“Fresh out,” I replied, gesturing to the empty display. “Supply chain issues, you know how it is these days.”

He sighed dramatically. “That’s the third shop tonight. Hell’s getting awfully dark without matches. Can’t keep the eternal flames burning with just good intentions.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Have you considered switching to electric? More sustainable.”

“Tried that.” He pulled out a charred iPhone. “The batteries kept exploding. Besides, there’s something nostalgic about matchsticks. They remind me of humanity’s first theft of fire.”

Just then, Old Wang shuffled in - my regular customer who always bought matches to light his evening cigarettes. To my surprise, he pulled out a pristine box of matches from his pocket.

The Devil’s eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning. “Sir, would you be willing to part with those?”

Old Wang squinted at him. “These? They’re my last box. Been saving them.”

“I’ll trade you anything. Wealth? Youth? Knowledge?”

“Anything?” Old Wang’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “How about a job review for my grandson in Hell? He’s been dead for three years, working in your Customer Complaints Department.”

The Devil pulled out a tablet, scrolling through what looked like an infernal HR database. “Ah yes, Wang Junior. Good kid, very diplomatic with the damned souls. Due for a promotion actually.”

“Make him department head and throw in dental benefits. Then the matches are yours.”

They shook hands. As the Devil eagerly grabbed the matchbox, Old Wang added with a grin: “They’re counterfeit by the way. Might explode.”

The Devil burst out laughing. “Perfect! We could use some unpredictability downstairs. Gets boring when everything goes according to plan.”

As he vanished in a puff of slightly defective smoke, Old Wang turned to me. “Got any real matches? Need to light my cigarette.”

I shook my head. “Fresh out. But I’ve got a lighter.”

“Not the same,” he sighed, heading for the door. “Modern conveniences lack character. No risk, no fun.”

I watched him disappear into the night, leaving behind the faint smell of brimstone and broken dreams. Sometimes I wonder if that night really happened, but then I remember the HR memo that circulated in Hell about Wang Junior’s promotion and his revolutionary initiative to introduce cognitive behavioral therapy for tortured souls.

They say Hell froze over that year - turns out counterfeit matches weren’t great for maintaining eternal flames. But at least everyone got dental insurance.