I don’t know which one of us he thinks is a vacuum cleaner.

“Do you have any waste you wish to dispose of?” asks Trashbot.

“Trashbot is not a vacuum cleaner,” I inform the man.

“What about that one?” He points to Proto.

“Proto is a dog,” I tell him.

“Rarf,” Proto says.

“Huh, cute,” the man says. “Kinda.” He returns the toothpick to his mouth. “What can I get you?”

“What is the most amount of food we can have for the least amount of money?”

“Well, now,” he says. “You can get a Mini Mountain for a buck.”

I know from having learned many things about animals that a buck is a male deer. Deer are cloven-hoofed ungulates with good nighttime vision. All male deer grow antlers, except for Chinese water deer. I know many other facts about deer, but it is unclear to me how we are to obtain a male deer in order to exchange it for a hot dog. Perhaps the man in the apron understands even less about money than I do.

“We had hoped to exchange money for biofuel,” I explain to him with great patience.

“You talk funny,” he says. “Where you from?”

“We are from California.”

“That explains it.”

ADA and I blink at him.

“You can get a Mini Mountain for a dollar,” he says. “You know what a dollar is? A hundred cents?”

“I do know what a dollar is,” I inform him. “We do not have a hundred cents.”

“Heh, you kids and your toys are adorable. Tell you what. Go away.” He inserts a second toothpick between his teeth and gnaws.

I turn to leave, but then I spot a sign on the wall: “CONQUER WIENER MOUNTAIN, WIN FREE T-SHIRT, EAT FOR FREE.”

“Free means something that doesn’t require money, correct?”

“Yeah, so?”

“We wish to conquer Wiener Mountain.”

Twenty minutes later, the man sets a platter bearing two hot dogs on the table with a heavy klunk. He winces and stretches his back.

ADA and I blink at the Wiener Mountains, processing. The wieners are the size of fire extinguishers, nestled in giant, pillowy buns. They’re topped with shovelfuls of chili, gallons of liquid cheese, mounds of onions, and heaps of relish. I worry about the table’s ability to support their weight.

The man produces a stopwatch from his pocket. The case is stained with spots of brown crust that I believe is chili. “Here’s the deal. You have fifteen minutes to eat the mountains. No sharing. If you clean your plates, you eat free. You each get a T-shirt. You get your pictures on the Wall of Fame. That’s bragging rights. Glory. Immortality. But if you don’t finish? No glory. No fame. And you pay. If you try to eat and run? Then you’ll be talking to Carl.”

“Who is Carl?” ADA asks.