“You got anything to say to the city, brother?” he asked.
“Um,” Luke hesitated. “Don’t hate people who are different than you. Only
hate people who are assholes.”
“What the fuck is that?” the puppet said. “Let me talk.”
Luke sighed.
“All right,” the puppet began. “My message was pretty fucking clear two
thousand years ago. But the people in charge stripped it of any meaning.
Be kind to each other. Don’t judge one another. That’s not your fucking
place. That’s my Father’s.”
“Amen,” the old woman added.
Roger kept the camera pointed at his former coworker. He then zoomed in on
the Jesus puppet.
“And don’t think putting change in a fucking donation jar is enough,” the
puppet said. “Help people who need it. Be your own fucking miracles.”
The puppet paused, then lifted Luke into the air. They landed two blocks
away. The street was empty. The sun was setting. Luke wondered if it was
safe to go back to his apartment. He
hadn’t showered in a week, and punching preachers had left him drenched in
sweat.
“Hopefully that fucking message won’t get twisted again in two thousand
years,” the puppet grumbled.
“It’s on video,” Luke said. “Maybe this time we’ll get it right.”
“I hope so,” the puppet replied.
They walked down the sidewalk. Luke tripped over nothing.
He stood up and found himself face-to-face with a preacher in blue-cross