“You’re trying to find the Real huh?”
Kirk did a double take. The man reeked of liquor and stared at him through watery yellow eyes. Something clicked and for a brief moment no one said a thing. Kirk grinned then shrugged. “It’s just the music man.”
“No-it’s you! You’re the one doing it.”
The vagrant kept looking bemusedly at Kirk who by then had become too embarrassed to continue dancing to the street performer’s music. Then, as though a spell had been broken, the manic look faded from the vagrant’s eyes and he shuffled off.
The past few months had been rough and lately relief came only in the form of music and subsequently-dancing. For Kirk it started off as a way to escape. Eventually it became something more. Something spiritual. Primal. In fact it seemed that the more time he spent on the dance floor the quicker his troubles seemed to pass. Not to mention how opportunities came pouring in from all sides. In time Kirk’s buoyant energy ensured that he never went home alone after hitting the clubs.
Weeks passed. Kirk had just finished reading an essay that struck him to his core and while he mulled over it’s implications the church’s choir began their performance. It had all come down to this. He’d been avoiding it for quite awhile. The way random old Asian ladies would slightly bow towards him. The way certain dogs would go berserk and lunge at him. The funny way he’d catch a reflection of himself with what appeared to be a nimbus around his head.
It was madness.
Yes.
Blasphemous.
Yes.
Yet it was a truth he came to find that most people were too terrified to acknowledge about themselves.
Nostrils flaring-he gorged on the worship.
JUSTE 