on Sin, Suffering, Hope, and the True Way
Even the Awakened cannot stop the Night's sudden arrival to the world. The long months are on them and the lazy, long days of Summer are only a memory. Five-thirty is no longer the 'afternoon,' it's the evening. Stars twinkle merrily above, uncaring about the tiny spec of blue below them.
The steeples of the Community Center spear the blue-black sky. Marks of a farmed-faith, that has since left, remain in the engravings that decorate the former church.
Outside, there are stragglers: people looking for the courage to share themselves with complete strangers. Each person a representation of a cross-section of society: men, women, white-collar, blue-collar, prostitutes, and mothers. Each and every one of them carrying with them their own crosses of addiction and depression. Each of them carries a tiny flame of hope in their hands that life will get better, that together they will have the strength to move on, move forward.
'Ever Forward.'
They just have to descend into a basement that smells like the mothballs and sugar-cookies of a finished Bingo Game and among holiday decorations acquired at the Dollar Store.