About a mile from where I live, there is a very large, very wealthy church. You know it's a wealthy church in El Paso because it's not surrounded by a weedy desert wasteland. I don't know if it's like this everywhere, but around here they usually spend every cent on the building and leave the grounds to rot. It may not be their fault, but it's ass-ugly. This church is surrounded by nice xeriscaping and many, many parking spaces. On any Sunday, those parking spaces are filled with many, many vehicles, most of them big and shiny. The sort of vehicle you see on commercials, the ones that go smashing through rainforests and canyons while the occupants sip tea and listen to classical music.

That is, big pieces of shiny crap made by Ford. El Paso likes Ford.

At any rate, I always happen to be driving past this church during a shift change. If Moses had parted Detroit, it would have looked like this. Vehicles ranging from simply huge to staggeringly titanic gush forth from the church parking lots, lumbering out into the lanes whether other vehicles are there or not. They dash across the medians, heaving and swerving. These people flee the church like they'd rather be anywhere else in the world. They scatter like deer before a forest fire, like roaches before the Orkin Man, like peasants before the Four Horsemen. And they do it without the slightest regard to the people already driving down the street.

Every Sunday, I wonder what causes them to desire escape so badly. Just this moment, I believe I have arrived at the answer: They're trying to get away before the collection plate gets to them.