I forget where: old pickup stopped, three on the tree. "I am the Second Coming," Jesus said. "I've seen the fabric of the Universe." He ground second. Admittedly, Sectioned 8. A pharmacopian doctor visit, then to Helena.

Jesus unknowingly sideswiped a parked car, said, "Born Italy, 1963. AntiChrist's name is Stephen..." something. Downtown, a hit dog. Eyes died curbside right there before me. Longnecks later, we pretended cowboys saying "pert near" and "right smartly." Truck bed slept us while Jesus got a room, woman.

Morning: "Hope you save us," we good-byed. Confused, unrecognizing, he smiled.

"I will," he said.