Someone’s watching.
Who, how, ho…ly Jesus.
He walked almost jogging, moving his face from side to side, his eyes were never at ease, his mind was never at rest.
God wants me killed!
People want me dead!
Why me and not he; always me.
He went to the church, tried to pray; angels watching, priest sneaking, people present. Never private, never secret; always on the spot, always at the scope.
He went out. Never stepping on lines, always inspecting for his next step. Senses affinity was his norm. Eyes, ears, tongue, and touch, except odor. No one is disgusted by his own smell. Who else but he knew God-spread-on-him spell?
Back on his corner, which appeared more like junker, he looked for light.
Who has taken my lighter? I knew they wanted me dead; this cold is irresistible without fire.
Suddenly, in front of him appeared his own shadow, he felt a strong beam of light on his back, and the impact was such when he turned around, that he stepped on lines, the voices were hushed, his eyes stared at the light, and when he looked back, he saw the body of a sullied vagabond.