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There was this whole other world that didn’t know anything about uncomfortable pews, uptight mothers, smelly crowds, and angry Jesus statues. The sun reached down from the lovely blue sky, and the green grass stretched up to meet it. Birds sang from the trees, and squirrels were busy at play. Cars drove by, carrying laughing families on their way to the beach or to the park or the movies – or anywhere but the awful, boring church. There was something enchanted about the world outside, and every Sunday she sat there, longing to be a part of it. The congregation had just taken it’s seat after another uninspired song, when Jenny first noticed it. She happened to glance outside the window – and there on the street below was a plastic shopping bag from a nearby grocery store. The bag was puffed up by air and being batted around by a summer breeze. The bag looked like it was dancing – a graceful, playful, energetic ballet as the wind would lift it up and then let it fall, spiraling down. …I wanted to trot into her place of her work with elegance and so I slipped on a clean pair of black trousers, and my stiff collared white shirt clasped to my torso by a soft brown velvet jacket. Slotted into my side pocket was Jean-Paul Sartre’s The Age of Reason, which I thought should accompany me because I didn’t know how long I would have to sit in the waiting lounge. I’m a decent sort of guy and was doing this for a worthwhile adventure and not necessarily to ogle at the other staff, but if I did happen to get turned on by glimpsing them I knew my partner would understand, if not encourage a total sensory experience. I got there at eleven-thirty, half an hour before I knew she would be finishing up. A hive of enticing thoughts trailing from my wafting velvet jacket tails as I swarmed across the dark empty street up to the entrance and beezed the doorbell. I wanted to feel horny. I wanted to sweat; feel the insatiable sting plucked from my swelling lust, yet I could not.
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