The building was tall, painted in pale green and off-white. It stood at the top of the High Street, with its four glass front doors. Two of these had posters on, designed to pull in the punters. Their effect on me was muted. I was there not from choice, but from circumstance.

The door was open. I walked in to the lobby with its thick coving and art-deco style. I was welcomed by people who thought they knew me. Through the green doors to the open area, I looked at the projector screen. It had once shown the newsreels of a world-wide war, but now it proclaimed the battles in a heavenly war.

I was the projectionist.

They sang their praises, and they seemed to see God as a fish-net, just above head height; something they continually tried to grasp with their hands, hoping for a fish to fall out.

I lived my lie among them, smiled at the right times, looked up at the fish when they did. They were all oblivious to my falsehood.

I found God in a 1930's cinema.

The building was long, low and grey. It stood in a field, with a gravel track behind it. At the end of the track was an ice-cream van. Inside the building were theatrical lights shining on a stage. An African was banging on the stage with a staff.

The people in the building seemed to see God as a mist all around them, like a perfume in a department store. They closed their eyes and soaked in it. I lifted my hands and pretended to feel the fragrance. I wept. I opened my eyes and realised that the mist was just my tears.

I found God in a cattle shed.

The building was small, with a thatched roof. The ivy-green hands of time had weaved their way over the red-brick wall. The door was auburn, with a brass knocker. I let myself in - it was not locked.

Inside and to the right, in the living room, was a young man, reading a book. Although he was young, the wrinkles of stress weighed down his brow, so that I felt inferior to him. His eyes seemed to burn, even in that dark room.

He spoke to me.

"I am unchanging. I take no forms on this earth now. To doubt this is blasphemy. I am not your god for the week, your craze, your Sunday masturbation. I am ancient and I am here, in your home."

I found God in a thatched-roof cottage.

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