LET’S DRINK OUR WAY THROUGH WINTER
In my living room a stranger is dying. She is lying on the couch, using her last fingers to motion me to her. When my ear is the closest thing to her face, she says to me something that sounds like, "Circle of Death."
"You will be fine," I say, rummaging vainly for a pack of gum. I don't know what this circle of death business is about. I do not know why she insists on wearing your face either. It just looks silly on her; it looks pretty good on you.
This is when Jesus walks in and even though I am like, "Woah, it's Jesus," my guest is not surprised. He walks over to her, places one palm on her forehead and turns her to wine. "Jesus," I say later, as we pass the bottle around, "I heard talk of a circle of death before, but really, it's more of a line." This is when a tire flies in through the window and hits me dead in the face. Jesus finishes the wine, heads to the fridge for more.