It’s Monday. Sunday's worship ringing somewhere 100 miles away from consciousness. Remembered and praised Jesus enough to the core. The hero, our mirror image, rises up to all the chaos lined up. The paper man is late. @*&!!. Auto man refuses to come where he wants to go. @##**!!. A pretty girl passes by and the 30 second fantasy realm, he activates, the other realm church failed to talk about. He logs in, to see work stacked up like a heap of…we call it s*#@. Exhausted mentally, he needs a smoke. He smokes. Colleagues and gossips sneak in and the day goes on. It’s 6 pm, time to log off and the boss walks in. @*# *& #$&@! *&$%# @!#$^%.
8 pm now. Rush Hour part IV begins. In other words “the bed is beckoning him”. Traffic, cows and bulls on the road, truck stuck and all the rest move like snails. @*&*%$. Finally he reaches home at 10. It’s time to sleep. Oh wait. “Me...me...watch me” yells the Tube. The surfing begins from BBC (the war, the murders, the gay pride and corruption) then the movies, celebrities and skin. This calls for another smoke. This time there’s company, the wicked green bottle...and more company...the net-wet stuff. 12:01 am his system, the head, shuts down with a heavy load of chaos.
Knock knock. “Wasn’t I (Jesus) supposed to be in your day?”
“No time” he whispers in the dark.
Trinnngggggggg… Wake up. It’s Tuesday. He wakes up in bedlam.
Alarm! Alarm! Jesus needed. Everyday, every second.
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