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  • Over his morning coffee, Sidney's spam email told him that "thousands of people are breaking ties with their church in search of something more."

    He nudged George and showed him the screen of his iPhone.

    "More than God, do you think?"

    George hrrmmpphhh'ed. He didn't talk in the morning, at least not until 10, and here Sidney was trying to get a response at 6 a.m.

    "More than angels?" Sidney persisted. "Loaves and fishes?"

    George pushed his chair back from the formica table and headed toward the coffee pot. "Ain't done me no favors," he grumbled, "damn mobile garbage patch on wheels, don't even have no awning ferrchisstakes," spreading his arms in the brothers' kitchenette to demonstrate the width of it, nearly touching both walls.

    "We have a WIC card," Sidney said, happy just to be in conversation. "We've got the ER at Lady of the Angels just two miles over if either of us pops a vein in the head. The neighbors' Christmas tree out the side window at night. What more would you like to have?"

    Groaning back to the breakfast table, George sputtered "I'd like to take a goddamn shit sometime this month," just as the tornado slammed into the trailer, re-acquainting both men with the saints and angels of their boyhood.

    214 words, 10 minutes
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