Citrus

200 Block, 22 Minutes

I probably look like I'm moonwalking across the intersection trying to avoid the expansive puddles. Why did it have to rain today, of all days? Just when I think I'm safe, I step in a fucking pool of rainwater mixed with tire residue. This is bad news for my 100% certified organically handmade moccasins, and they cost me a pretty penny.

I notice I'm seeming to attract a bit more attention than I normally do. Maybe it's my disgruntled demeanor and aggressive pace. Or maybe it's the sloshing of my now soaked feet on the pavement. Either way, I'm not too happy. Stop looking at me, strangers. What, you've never seen anyone having a shitty day before? No, you haven't heard of the band on my tee shirt, so don't worry about it. And don't try to ask me where I got my shawl, because it's one-of-a-kind.

Think good thoughts. Once again my mother's cliched advice resonates with me. Why couldn't she ever think of anything original? Eh, it still holds true. It's just difficult to put into practice when Murphy's Law seems to be at full throttle. 

"Excuse me, miss," someone calls out to me. I normally keep walking, but this sounds urgent.

"Miss, excuse me! Excuse me," the man says again. He extends a hand as if he's going to try to grab my arm and slow me from passing. I yank my arm out of reach, but I feel like an asshole, so I stop. But I'm not happy about it.

"What? I'm running late," I say, hoping that'll hurry things along. 

"Oh, here, take this then," he says, handing me a pamphlet. "Promise me you'll read it?"

On the front cover is written Do you need help from above? in bold lettering. This is exactly what I need right now.

"I'm sorry, I'm not a believer," I say in what I think to be a polite tone. What? Why did I just say that? Why didn't I just lie to appease his condemnatory yet hopeful glare? Fuck.

"Every question you ever have can be answered by accepting God as your personal savior. Please, let's say a quick prayer." He puts his hand on my shoulder, lowers his head slightly, and closes his eyes. "Lord, I just ask that you-" 

You've got to be kidding me. I pull away. "I said I'm running late!" I take the pamphlet to make him feel better and rush onward. When I'm sure I'm out of his sight, I find a trash can on the corner and throw it out. A part of me feels guilty for not recycling, but I don't have time to worry about that right now.