Post suicidal thoughts enumerated and rattled in his mind through the air conditioned halls of a Jesus concept.
Scott On a Mission rejoiced hazy recollections of death and self annihilation, through the colours of his tshirt,
emblazoned with a Superman logo.
He referred to religion as Matrix and his God as a hoarder of aspirin, administering pain relief.
"Have you ever experienced God?" He asked.
"Well, I've had aspirin before, but I suppose it depends on what you mean?" I replied.
My head was hot from the eagerness of the sun, God furiously looking for the correct medication to prescribe me,
as he sat inside his burning yellow pharmacy.
"Jesus died for our sins because God wanted us to be free!
Jesus died as a pedophile, a murderer, a thief! What do you think of that?" Scott asked, with the power of a seemingly clear head, beaming his rhetoric like midday over busy pavements.
I tried to compose myself, and replied with the least amount of precociousness as possible.
"Bad parenting?"
...
It was clear that we both sought the triumphant stumbling of skies, but became lost somewhere inside the semantics of the sun.
I went to work, leaving Scott behind, but couldn't think straight for the next four hours as the air conditioning was broken.
Later, I surmised that we were either poets or fools - nearly supermen.
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