He

the man appeared from his apartment. like always he invited me in. like always i took him up on the offer. i needed his wisdom. even without a full grasp of its origins. he wore an unkempt beard with holes in it & streaks of gray. his only vice was Christian Brothers Whiskey. neat. out of plastic cups. generic cigarettes. he lived in an old apartment he restored himself from a trade taught to him by his father. his cupboards were filled with pasta & old raisin brand. he read five newspapers a day & never watched television.



he approached me with a pamphlet that read: Jesus Loves You.

i didn't believe him.

but he asked if i might read it to improve my life. i wasn't sure anything was wrong with my life. not in the way he may have imagined. but i took the pamphlet anyway to appease him. it was wrinkled. once crushed then restored from the black hole of his storage trunk (i imagined this may have happened on a morning he woke up a non-believer then by dusk -- by confidence of red skies & liquor -- found his faith again).

he stood with a wobble. his breath ripe with Christian Brothers & a love for Jesus. he wanted to pass on the life he never lived. a certain regret of abandoned young love -- the love he never got to know. once claimed focus until a fling pulled an hours worth of attention. an hour was all that was needed to end it all. he suffered a life time because of it.

his love for Jesus began after the self confessed crash. the one he "duly regrets" & yet "need not expand in detail." i figured it to be a sickness but he read into this theory & corrected me. assured me his health was in place. it was only the "regrets" he "need not expand in detail" which caused the conversion. so i dropped it.

he spoke to himself, with me standing before him, & answered himself all the same. most times he'd turn his back when the conversation got heated then he'd return to me with nodding head to assure me all was well. he'd stare off at building tops with intoxicated midnights, forming spit bubbles & white residue bout the corners of his mouth while i thumbed the pamphlet. glanced mostly at the art work -- Jesus amongst lambs & never ending land surrounds with gorgeous sunsets & God's visual eye lids. for a moment i believed. then i recalled it was art work & closed the pamphlet. his cigarette shook between his fingers. he burped inebriated loss & stumbled away to read the news. he stumbled away to find salvation. he stumbled away to die alone.