III.
Luke got into his car. It was difficult to put the keys in and shift gears
with his left hand. Sock Puppet Jesus refused to help. Luke hoped this
wouldn’t be permanent.
“How many people have you fucks kicked out?” the puppet asked.
“I don’t know. Five or six in the last few years.”
“God damn. You people suck.”
“I didn’t make the rules,” Luke said. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m
just a janitor.”
“That doesn’t make it any fucking better,” the puppet said. “I thought you
people were supposed to be Christians.”
Traffic was heavy. Thousands of cars tried to get to the street where the
person being exiled would be forced to walk out of town.
“Pull over here,” the puppet commanded. “There’s got to be a faster way.”
Luke turned into a McDonald’s lot. Through the window, he saw the painting
of Jesus in the play area. He wished that was the version of Jesus stuck
on his hand.
Outside the car, Luke’s right arm extended upward. His shoulder hurt. It
felt like it would be pulled out of its socket.
“That hurts,” Luke said.
“Don’t worry,” said the puppet. “You’ll be fine. Don’t fight it.”