Jesus Saves

Late Macabre Monday Short Story

He shuffled on his holed brown shoes to the right, going from stroad to street. At least on the street, There was a crackled sidewalk whereas on the stroad there was only a buried path amidst the grass because the town council did not think it was important enough to have a walkway for pedestrians. He looked up at the street and saw that it was littered with signs for liquor and bars - asking whether the world wanted the booze now or later and whether it was willing to pay the extra cost for having it now. but along the street, there was a neon cross saying “Jesus Saves” in capital letters.

 He wondered how many people design had truly saved. Or was it money? If so Jesus was better than he was because his dungarees had no belt. It was only two blocks of filled-in stores and the rest were empty. But then the paper mills that populated the town were all abandoned, and it was settling into a ghost town year by year, storefront by storefront, with the daisies pushing up between the cracks.

 It was 6 AM and being summer sun was already out hidden by mulchy clouds, but there was no one else walking and only occasionally driving by. At least someone had someplace to be, even if it was the same as where they were coming from. When you have nothing to do at least a change of scenery makes a slight amount of difference. Even the bricks and mortar had shafts of grass growing in them. It was clear that even the owners didn’t care what the street looked like. An old, tired street in a forgotten town in the Northeast corner of America. You could tell it was on the coasts because there were hills with oak and maple trees strewn liberally across the landscape.

 But then there was a blacktop area for a gasoline station. There was somebody there inside the 7/11. He was behind glass and reading something with garish-colored lights. The man did not look as to whether it was NSFW or not. But, thought the man, he is safe from danger inside his little four-cornered walled space.

 The man decided to walk in and perhaps use some of the loose dollars to buy something, even if he did not know what was. He certainly wasn’t hungry. Once inside the first thing that he noticed was it was intensely bright. Everything was stored on neat white shelves with little signs telling everyone who stopped what price each box was. Each box was rubbing its hands together thinking how much the owner of the store would gain by having each customer give up a little bit of money for some perceived version of happiness. The gerund calls to you.

 The man sitting inside the cashier was not even looking at the man, he only flipped over another page. The man could see that he was slightly drooling, perhaps over the splash of whatever was created on the folds. Again, the man did not want to know what it was that gave urgency to the cashier’s lust. Porno, cars, or boats - it’s all the same something that you don’t even have a chance to get the bundle for on the page. The cashier wasn’t going to win any beauty contests, that’s for sure.

 Deciding that there was nothing here for him he wandered out into the suffused light. It was Sunday and the roads were dead all the cars were still sitting in their storage location. There was nothing to save the day for in this part of the world. He looked up and down the street and again saw the neon “Jesus Saves” and he wondered what exactly was being saved on this small street. There was somewhere near here but it wasn’t here.

Then a person was going up to the street-strode intersection and he was completely out of place. He was wearing a blue pinstriped suit with a cold power tie and care of shoes that had at least cost USD1000, each. There was a smile on his lips and a new black briefcase on his left arm. Who carries a briefcase in this day and age? He had a cigarette that was lit on his other hand.

The man stood there, and the interloper walked directly down the sidewalk to him and stood a bit far to the comfortable. The interloper looked into the man’s eyes and said: “Hello, I am from Snydley, Whiplash and Company[1]. You look like you need a little bit of money.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Jeans and no belt, shoes which need replacing, and no wallet I could see, that tells me all I need to know.”

“What if I don’t have any prospects? It’s a wonderful life, what else do I need?”

“If you don’t have any prospects, it’s because you don’t look like you have the prospects. To have prospects you have to look like you have prospects. Look good and profitable things will happen to you. This is America.”

“And what would you suggest?”

“Get a suit, find a new job, and start making lots of money.”

“And what will I do with this money once I make it?”

“Surely you have some things that you want?”

“No not really. I’m just killing time softly.”

“Don’t you want anything better? Don’t you have bills you have to pay?”

“I’ll pay them when I can – if not, then not.”

The pinstriped suited man puffed his cigarette and then said: “But hoping for better is what dreams are made of. “

“I stopped in the convenience store and did not see anything I wanted.  All boxes with jangle-jangle noise bop.”

 “In not dream for the future no borrowing in the present.”

“So?”

“With no borrowing then there is little reason to work to keep the lenders at bay.”

“So? Jesus saves.”

Then the man turned to me and said: “But look around you. Jesus may save, but the devil owns the banks.” And then he waited, “So, for him, we must give thanks.”

And then, getting nothing from me, the man disappeared. Off to seek someone else to grift his next meal on the side of the overstruck, underappreciated, and overloaded stroad.

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[1] With kudos to Paul Wilson.