I Live Down The Street From A Church The Size Of The Death Star

 

I Live Down The Street From A Church The Size Of The Death Star

 

I live down the street from a church

the size of the Death Star

and on Sundays if the traffic

happened to find itself sucked sky-wise

this traffic

would blot out

the sun

 

and yesterday morning it was Sunday again

(because the church doesn’t have to pay taxes

so it can afford an ark full of lobbyist to ensure

it’s always Sunday again somewhere) and after not leaving

the house for around 56 hours I figured

I should probably

leave the house

 

the cats needed cat food

and I’d run out of fake meat and lettuce

and felt like getting a burrito

that I wouldn’t have

to make

myself

 

so I got in the car

(Helen, you see how easy that is?)

I got in the car

and the car needed gas

and why the hell did it have to be

so goddamn bright outside?

(I blamed the modern state of democracy

and the price of Ray Bans and all the White Walkers

who’ve fallen

for Trump)

 

so there I was

in the car without Helen and

the car was operating on E

because I’d forgotten I’d needed gas

the last time I drove it

 

so I turned right into the first station that popped

out of the horizon which happened to be located

smacked feet first in the middle

of the main parking lot of

the Flatirons Church

 

or the gas station was there first I suppose, and over time

the church had just consumed the mass of land surrounding it

like a blizzard consumes safe driving conditions

or how you can’t believe it’s not butter?

Well, that makes two of us

 

I checked the clock before exiting the car and committing

and I’d figured it was safe because I was consciously traveling

during the quiet period between sermons

 

when the streets were quiet between slaughters

I was traveling between the 9

and 11 a.m. shows

 

I should’ve had a good 20 minutes

before the 9 o’clock hounds were let go

and the 11 a.m. hordes choked the streets

dead with their sheer mass and their travel

 

I wasn’t being reckless, Helen

I wasn’t being like you or I used to be

I’d fucking planned this whole cat food/burrito journey out, damn it!

almost a full half hour before reluctantly

stepping out of the

house

 

(cue guitar riff from Dokken’s Dream Warriors: now)

 

but that planning didn’t stop what happened

after I stepped out of the car

that planning didn’t stop what happened next

(“I’m standing in the night alone!/for-EV-er!/toGETH-ER!”—Don Dokken)

 

I got out of the car and looked up

because when you get out of a car, that’s generally

the next step, ain’t it? How else are you gonna know

where you’re going?

You look up

 

so I looked up and I saw an entire army of movable bodies

pouring out of every orifice that church

had ever had built in it

a good damn 20 minutes ahead of schedule!

Did the house band decide to perform the slightly shorter

Pink Floyd song this week?

I mean, literally HORDES of people

a couple thousand of em’ maybe!

and every one of them heading

towards the parking

lot

 

that lot being the only thing that was standing between us

at the time, myself and that horde, an amount of traversable space

that would be traversed in the matter of minutes

 

(“Mee-nuts, Captain! Mee, nuts”—modern day movie Scotty, r.i.p.)

 

which means I had only minutes to get out of there

I could’ve made it, if I’d just jumped in the car

(do you see that, Helen. if you can jump in the car

but you don’t jump in the car, well, there are consequences

 

King in the North! inspired consequences #direwolves #sadFace #Boremeer)

I could’ve just jumped in the car

but the car was out of gas

and the crowd was getting closer

 

another two minutes and they’d be upon me

could I realistically choose the pay at the pump option

and get enough gas in my car to not be ridiculous

and get the hell out of there

in 2 minutes or less?

 

I didn’t know

I just did it

(#Kirk,out)

I swiped the card and entered my

very specific pin code

and I declined the offer of a car wash

and no, time is important here!

I wouldn’t be needing a bloody receipt!

 

and after getting the card approved go ahead

I pulled the gas nozzle out of the gas nozzle holder thingy

like I was unsheathing a valerian sword

and then I started laughing

until I started pretending to be

super serious

 

I turned dramatically on purpose

and stood there posed with the nozzle

just like Jon Snow was standing

when he stood down Ramsey’s entire goddamn army

in last week’s Bastard vs. Bastard episode

of Game of Thrones

 

I stood there all stoic, with the camera behind me

pumping gas as bravely as possible

as the horde crashed my way exactly like things happen

on Game of Thrones style

and Don Dokken just kept

on screaming

 

Can I be honest?

I want to smack things

when people say shit like

‘Can I be honest’

 

but let’s face it

(I’m actually not all that fond of

that phrase either)

 

I was pretty sure I wasn’t going

to make it

so did I make it?

did I actually survive?

 

I don’t know, I mean

(sentence deleted)

 

we’ll all just have to tune in

next week to

find out

 

 

 

(written while listening to Dokken)