Martin

“Damn”, he thought, gazing emptily. The low winter light played long shadows as he contemplated the e-mail and his failing mother.

He walked on.

Just the night before, he had played Saint Nicholas for the children of an Orthodox parish. For a few moments, he had felt like one whose prayers were heard by God Himself.

He took a long, uneven breath. The smell of the holy incense still lay on his coat.

He stopped, and wept.