Sunday guest...
Someone shouts my high school nickname in the middle of Union Square, just as I am about to take a left turn through the train station. I am more than a few minutes late having allowed my typical Sunday morning lethargy - part relapsed faith, part lingering hangover - to leave me in real danger of arriving late. By the time I finally pull myself off my bed, complete my preparations and grab the number 16 bus to the city centre, it is already 11.10am; meaning Sunday school is over, and the opening hymnal is just about to be sung. ...