COIN - 2020

CHAPTER 8 Joel Wayne “Shhhh,” I said. “Stop stop stop. Please.”

I put my hands over my ears and shut my eyes. Hummed a song from light years ago I couldn’t remember the name of, about water and a deer and the word “panteth.” I thought then of church. Of being a boy and playing quarters in the moldy basement of the defunct hospital in the part of town that always looded when it rained too much. It was closed now, the upstairs turned into ofices—chiropractors, a medium who wore dresses that looked like they were made out of rosemary needles. And our ragtag bride of Christ, stuck downstairs, eating our fruits 23