I'm walking downtown during lunch. It's a hot, summer day and the sky is bright blue behind tall
buildings. The wind blows through the static corridors,
flicking dust and throwing papers and lifting skirts. It is a playful child with
mirrors on its shoes and grubby, pigtail pulling fingers.
We stroll the block or so to have Chinese food and I get a large order of
Siam Noodles in a Styrofoam to-go box. They know me there so they pack the
clamshell with so many curry noodles that I can barely close it. The plastic bag
around it sags low and the tied handles pull tight in my fingers.
We move around the corner, you and I, we've walked this route so many
fucking times that I can't count them now. The smell of diesel bus exhaust
billows among the derelicts and businessmen standing in the sunshine.
I see him in the distance, a lone figure in beige pants, black shoes and
belt, and a white shirt with a long black tie. He paces back and forth, a black
square in his hand and he beats upon it with his fist. He looks like a tiger
tracing circles in a cage, the sun brightens his white hair but there is no
halo.
We approach him slowly and I can feel your eyes on me- you know what I'm
thinking.
You're right.
When I turn to look at you I can see your anxiety. You've heard the bile I
can spew and you know that I want turn his words around on him. You know I'm fucked up enough to try and argue down a crazy man with a
Bible.
His voice carries above the sound of traffic and people. He repeats
damnation, damnation, damnation... the end of the world is coming.
"The preacher man says it's the end of time, says that America's
rivers are going dry, the interest is up, the stock market's down... "
I slow down as we pass him, he yells and screams. He talks about the end of
the world, he talks about the end of time, and he talks about the end of the
family.
He holds up his book and slings it around him like a sword - "The sword of
God!" He holds it above his head. "God shall smite us with his wrath unless
we repent! The Lord shall come down upon us and take his children like a thief
in the night." Breath. "Will you be here when the mighty trumpet
sounds?"
I slow down and you push me forward, I feel the tips of your fingers in the
small of my back as gentle pressure.
"God has turned his back on us! We are a nation of baby killers and drug
addicts, child molesters and homosexuals!" He turns and faces the street and I
notice that the people around him have turned their backs.
They do not want to catch his eye, they do not want to gain his interest,
they do not want this crazy man in their midst. Everyone is fearful of him- not
for his message- his manic pacing and yelling. They see him as a festering sore
on the sidewalk, worse than a beggar seeking change. If he was a beggar he might
go away.
I wonder, has he ever won a single soul for Christ, yelling like this? I
wonder, has he ever done more than stand on the street corner so that others can
see just that he is a "holy man". Does this notoriety help him to sleep at
night? Does he have any friends?
Your fingers push me on. I look at the preacher man now as he speaks the
"words
of God".
I don't think he understands anything at all he says. I look at the
preacher man, I look at the preacher man, I look at the preacher man
I look!
But he doesn't look back.
"The preacher man says it's the end of the world..."
We walk towards the State Capitol Building to have a quiet lunch on the
steps. Behind us the man's voice fades into the rush of traffic.
"The preacher man says it's the end of the world..."
I open my box of noodles and they spill out like bliss... I wonder if
he ever opens that book in his hand.
"The preacher man says it's the end of the world..." | 
