Artemis told her brother as she watched a row of dowdy matrons pulling the arms of machines that twinkled and clacked and blared obnoxious things like “Wheel of Fortune.” “It is as if the shine and the glitter of the boxes casts a spell on them.” “Slot machines,” Apollo corrected her. Artemis gave him a quizzical look. “Remember what Bacchus told us? They are called slot machines.” “Slot machines or shining boxes, what difference does it make? Leave it to Bacchus to actually listen to mortals.” A middle-aged woman in an appliquéd sweatshirt and leggings paused to frown at the goddess before she fed her machine more money. Apollo took his sister’s elbow and guided her out of earshot of the row of machines. “You shouldn’t let them hear you speak that way. And don’t be so hard on Bacchus. You know Zeus commanded him to explain the customs of modern mortals to us so that we could blend more easily with them.” Apollo paused as he watched a man in a gaudy white jumpsuit encrusted with rhinestones cause a group of women to squeal in delight as he gyrated his hips and sang something about being “all shook up.”
