They found god in the parking lot. It whispered a few things before it shouted, love and hunger, kisses and murder. It spoke of the endless days of lying hidden in plain sight. A quiet eternity leading to an overpowering moment of awful flashing brilliance. We took a billion pictures of which a few had the same shadow.
The shadow they say is particle of gods semen encased in pocket lint.
Nothing much changed at the Deli though. Joe showed up but Maria wasn’t there, called in sick. A customer sat winking and blinking, opening one eye and quickly closing the other. “Indra is getting sleepy,” he says, pushing aside what was once a plate of flapjacks.
I feel it too, like a blissful silence, waiting for dessert.