Friday

This hour seems truly godless. This dark hour alone, when everyone is asleep or crying through their prayers, and sweating blood isn't a problematic symptom. Everyone's sweating blood now. Get a wipe, get a mask. You're not special in your suffering. This hour seems truly godless. This loud hour when the masses are the murderers. …

Saturday

What is it about these days that used to be so sacred and intimate? How I’d measure my time between settlements, watching diligently for the anomaly of civilization among the weeds until I finally arrived at their gates? How every moment between was just a matter of waiting, not being, not real like my Saturdays? …