I was picnicking on the beach of Devil’s Lake, crowded among hundreds of other bologna al fresco enthusiasts, when I was suddenly reminded of these words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: “The human voice is the organ of the soul.” I heard so many souls that balmy July afternoon: souls laughing, souls commenting on the weather, souls engaging in vicious gossip. But one soul rang out above the din, the soul of a husky young man in his late teens clad in an improbably thuggish-looking Mickey Mouse tank top and trunks ensemble. The soul of this young man boomed with a compelling urgency that spoke for all souls. “Ma!” cried the soul, “Where my Cheetos?” And in that moment, I was thunderstruck by the realization that I had NO IDEA “where my Cheetos”, either. The thought of those Cheetos– rightfully mine, exiled to parts unknown by my own negligence like so many pathetic, crunchy, orange orphans– was frankly unbearable. Inspired in a way that borders on religious awakening, I have taken on this young man’s quest for his Cheetos as my own. I am humbled to say I found my Cheetos everywhere I went. The bounty was endless. Please enjoy this spiritual journey. I hope that you, too, find the answer to your soul’s question: where your Cheetos?