Among The Lions
Shuttling between jobs tonight through this darkened neighborhood where something more is always going on, I passed a man standing still and quiet on the sidewalk with his head bowed low. A Puerto Rican churchwoman stood in front of him in her long skirt and modest braid one hand raised in the air and the other firmly holding his shoulder. She was praying for him, and he was receiving it - needing it. Half a block further I turned left into darkness, and the dealers were there pacing back and forth trying to flag me down. I knew the humble man would soon have to walk this way. I imagined that somehow she had given him some protection, some resolve, some kind of spiritual armour that would shield him from these men and this darkness above, below and beyond.
So, I'm a flash fiction writer now. Now get going!
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