What is more concerning, he was thinking, was the space between us and our religion which governs us.. He was setting the votives carefully along the stairs and praying quietly. A sense of mania surrounding him but it was muted, almost invisible. Like an electric fence. Daydreaming again.
Tonight he was being decisive: which candles to set, where to place them, who to invite. This filled him with a sense of purpose. It was winter, six pm and the sky was black. Already six inches on the ground, the weather predicted a foot more by midnight. No one is coming. The burgundy filled him by four and he was into the beer quickly after that. I have given up already. Depression is an insidious murderer.
“We just don’t feel safe driving,” his phone blinked.
Her face danced on the pane in front of him but he didn’t reach for that. He stood stoic; numbed by the alcohol, frozen by the climate, taken by the idea of it all. No one else was home on his block when he heard the knock.

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