A short story thriller about an elaborate content conspiracy in which you might unwittingly play a part. “They say you can’t fold a piece of paper more than eight times,” Julio says, lining up the ends of his receipt flat on the linoleum table. He folds the receipt in half, then runs his fingernail down the crease. “But that’s not the truth. I read somewhere that you can fold a piece of paper an infinity [sic] amount of times, but after like a hundred and five folds or something, the thickness of your stacked paper would be wider than, like, the whole galaxy. Theoretically, I mean.” I ask Julio how many times he thinks he can fold that receipt. “I’ve never gotten past eight,” he says, laughing. “It’s just a theory, but there’s something to it, I think. Maybe. Impossible to know.” As if on cue, a voice calls out from behind Julio: “Order one twenty two.” Julio furiously unfolds his receipt to read his order number as he stands up from our booth. “That’s us.”