(no subject)
It is a warm summer evening in St. Louis, in an indeterminate and probably anachronistic year somewhere in the Victorian era. The when isn't exactly important; the feel is what matters.
And that feel is flashy and cheap.
Sure, the people out and about on the street today are dressed in bright colors, but in many cases these are the only suits or dresses that they own. The desperation is palpable, an urgent need to feel alive while they still can.
Which is not the case for the young man walking down the sidewalk in a Roman cassock, tail bobbing along behind him with every step. He seems out of place, not just by his clothes, but also the brightness in his eyes, a good-natured and playful air. This is not a man out for a quick fix of something; no, he is just out to see what there is to be seen.
And that feel is flashy and cheap.
Sure, the people out and about on the street today are dressed in bright colors, but in many cases these are the only suits or dresses that they own. The desperation is palpable, an urgent need to feel alive while they still can.
Which is not the case for the young man walking down the sidewalk in a Roman cassock, tail bobbing along behind him with every step. He seems out of place, not just by his clothes, but also the brightness in his eyes, a good-natured and playful air. This is not a man out for a quick fix of something; no, he is just out to see what there is to be seen.