Dodging stray dogs and traffic and my own ineptitude, I ran through the streets in the rain.
I hadn’t felt that alive in a good long time. A month? A year? I’m not sure. But as I clutched the package and hopped over gasoline-streaked puddles, I felt an undeniable electricity dancing up and down my spine, reminding me that this is my one life and I’d damn well better appreciate it. So even though it was bright’n’sunny when I went into the liquor store, and I found myself sprinting with the ferocity of a Wally West fan-video so as safely transport my beers, I couldn’t help but smile.
Runnin’ through the rain on a Friday afternoon isn’t an inconvenience, it’s a goddamn privilege.
Safely within the confines of my apartment/spaceship (my therapist is tryin’ to help me come to terms with that one), I unloaded the cargo I’d guarded so closely. I didn’t want any of the wonderful acid-precipitation that we call weather to touch these containers, and in that mission I’d been wholly successful. Now, the next test revealed itself as I attempted to remedy faith with scientific experiment.
What the hell does any of this mean? Well, if I can decipher my own nonsense, it means that I’m going to try to quantitatively describe a sacred ritual. Science details religion?
That’s right, today I’m reviewin’ Monk’s Blood.