By Joshua Arnold

     Bus drivers converse about things unheard. Children play at their feet.
     “What bus are you looking for?” after dark.
     Uncommonly blue eyes in a sticky-sweet face; I see them again later. Lead revival singer who eventually pelts me with a slingshot t-shirt.
     Tall church alley man dressed in a black suit and bowtie he used to be homeless.
     Welcome to the Dream Center. 

     This is not what I expected: it is fresh and fishy but reminiscent of sport events and rock concerts and I want to make my hand into the ‘rock on’ gesture but don’t.
     I imagine the bassist in an impure way, feel bad, and then continue to undress. Next the backup singer, then the man with uncommonly blue eyes. A decent haul: I collect Pink Panther panties, white elastic underwear, and perhaps a vibrator or two.
     I’m bored and holding a nine o’clock ticket to hell.

     A video teaser of future events, reference to a Dodger’s game, Pastor Bud is in London, and then a group prayer.

     Several rows forward, a woman stares at her husband. I admire her technique: brief jerks of the eye, precisely guided to various parts of his body. Sometimes she knows what to expect; other times she is analytical. The husband is close-eyed and prays under his breath.

     I am happy to meet another soul departing at nine o’clock.

     She wears hairpins that terminate in small, white flowers. She wears three-hoop earrings that twine and spin within themselves. Her blouse is blue and appears uncomfortable; I’m sure her eyebrows are newly waxed. I notice freckles along the curvature of her shoulder blades: one has a small ‘mouth’.
     This is a night out. This is time spent with her husband. She seems concerned about thoughts in his head; he squeezes her hand in prayer.
     My staring is unrefined. I’m sitting behind, and have ample opportunity.

     Business man five-minute manager guest speaker faith in God we believe without seeing and might I please be your ‘single-serving buddy’ on that nine-o’clock flight? Not a glance but distraction I am reminded of personal feverish / near-death moments.
     “Yes” “Oh wow” “That’s right” “Oh wow” “Yes” “Oh wow” “Wow”
     “Is it possible to lay my burden in God’s hands?”
     We believe in life here, in a temple reminiscent of the Staples Center. We believe in death. Blue woman with hair for a wedding and earrings that smell of silver, you are colliding planes suspended from the ceiling above. Dinner was promised four hours ago.

     “What bus are you looking for?”