It is inevitable; the dying coughs say it all, and
our fears are confirmed. Yes, the bus we boarded
has broken down, and we are all doomed to show
up late at the doors of our homes. From the bitter
argument between driver and conductor, we find
out what happened: the engine had run out of oil,
but they chose to manage.
Six months had passed since I last set foot into a church building (my last appearance being Easter Sunday), but I did not feel for a moment that I had missed anything. The reading of the bible passages reeked of dour formality, the officiating priest churned out recycled sermons, the chants were the same, the hymns had not changed much, and I pretty much knew which activity followed the other.