Morning Prayers completed and I wait for the turning of the hour. Apprehensive, arrow prayers shoot up through the ceiling.
A date and time arranged late yesterday. A man barely forty – yet looking sixty. Full of the wine the newest bottle he waves about. He cries for his innocence, bewailing the abuse he is given in the town and wearing the badge of a black eye where he has responded to taunts.
Will he return, sober and yet without the passion of feeling for his state and reaction? Does his wine dull or enflame?
Way past 9.15am and arrow prayers shoot up through the ceiling. Relief or regret?