When I walked through town to Sunday service there was an ugly feeling I couldn’t place. I couldn’t tell whether it was in me or outside. It was windy, leaves and wrappers skittered about; it was if the city itself was askew, or as if unresolved fights from Saturday night were lingering. A passing man said to his friend, If I hadn’t let them do all that, I wouldn’t be so fucked now. A woman yanked her crying child into a pram. In church a humming child kept kicking the back of my chair. Someone came in smelling of urine and queued up for the Eucharist. As I was leaving, a drunk kicked over the Church is Open sign; as I looked back I saw the church warden come out, and hoped he didn’t think it was me. I was confused the whole day.
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