Contributor: Brent Rankin
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Hey, like I was sitting at this bus stop, waiting for the Number Seven, when Jesus Christ sat down beside me and asked for a cigarette. I only had a doobie. Of course I gave it to him. I mean, the Son of God and all that. How do you say no?
He was wearing flip-flop sandals, worn out jeans, and a teeshirt with a majajuana leaf silkscreened on the front. He had the long hair, beard, and all.
“Are you…?”
“Yeah, yeah. Yeah,” he said. The questioned annoyed him. “What? You think I’m Windall Wilke?”
“Who’s Windall Wilke?”
“I don’t know. I just like the sound of the name. Kinda flows.”
He fired up the smoke, sucked a long drag, exhaled, and sighed. “Damn, that’s good,” he said and then, “Bet you got a few questions, uh?” He sucked in more smoke.
“I guess. Are you really Him?”
“What? Flowing...
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Author:
Brent Rankin
