The night I ended up in a mental hospital, for the last time, hopefully, I had been dropped off from the angel proving grounds, and I was exploring the place where I had landed. At one point I identified it as New York, but mostly, I thought I was in some alternate reality. At some times along the way I thought again that I was the son of perdition, and that pretty much the entirety of the cosmos were mad at me, but basically, I was mostly alone. I was in touch with the secret society of Christians, and at one point, a bus coming toward me glowed golden, and to take that bus would mean salvation. I got on. Then I discovered they wanted exact fare, and I tried to ride it by offering $3 in bills, but the driver said no, and that I would have to get off at the next stop. I sat down, looking at the change I had, about $1.33. And I prayed to Jesus Christ, with the change in my hand, “Lord, let this be enough.” A desperate prayer, about to be thrown from salvation’s bus, with less than enough for fare. But not to despair, not in the darkest of plights: hope, find a way. This is what we were ever meant for.

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The Great Blasphemy