It’s a cold December evening, the wind slowly gnaws at my face, growing ever more ravenous by the second. My head darts back and forth looking for the nearest restroom. All the restrooms in the mall are closed. I have to roll down J St. to find a bathroom. I have to hurry, there’s not much time left. I’m moving as fast as I can… These wheels only turn so fast, my bladder decides to keep its finger on the trigger, time is of the essence and my dignity depends on it. Just as I’m about to enter my salvation, the house of the lovely lady Starbucks, two of the prayer folk stopped me, one of them putting his hand on my shoulder and the other on my knee, this is a little weird.
“Can we pray for you?”
I’m “kind of busy right now, maybe in a few minutes.”
They get right to work.
“Oh, heavenly father…”
Just then, I felt it. Sweet relief in the guise of a golden stream whose source is known only to me. True gnosis. I chuckle a little inside, if only they had just let me go, the laying on of hands would not have been anointed by liquid waste. This is the ironic thing about some religious people. Particularly these kinds of religious people. I’m sure they’ve noticed that their hands are drenched in my piss. I had tried to explain to them before that I was looking for a bathroom, to which they responded that they’ll only be a minute. Unfortunately for both of them and for me, it was a minute I didn’t have.
I remember once, one of their ilk had given me the great insight into the whole of Christianity. I simply needed to be Jesus wherever I was. Unfortunately, I’m very much alive and don’t find myself fastened to a wooden cross by something akin to a railroad spike, but what I think she meant, was to be like Jesus. I can only assume by that she meant be helpful to those in need, if only those two idiots knew what that actually meant, maybe they would’ve gotten me some clean clothes, or better yet, maybe they wouldn’t have interrupted me at all.