Woke up. I usually don't go to church but I go today because I think I might see my neighbor there and be able to confront her. The sky is black as midnight, rain on the horizon.
The sermon is about the missing kids at Middleton. It's a sad speech without much of a message. I can sense that people are hurting around me. The gloom in this town is like a throbbing radio wave giving everybody headaches.
My fat neighbor is in attendance, dressed in the usual muumuu. I glare at her through most of the sermon but she keeps her eyes glued to the priest. All the while I grip the wooden lip of the bench in front of me and pretend that it's her neck. But when church is over, even though it takes her an inordinately long time to rise and exit, I don't confront her. For some reason I was born incapable of acting at the opportune moment.
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