Reggie is folded on the chapel steps. Afternoon bells ring loud. Bing, bong. Bing, bong. He unwraps his stuffed, mangled jelly sandwich. Preserves gush, drooling from each side.
A taxi cab veers to the curb, mere feet away. A boy, eyes bright as glitter balls, climbs from the car. Reggie hears him say, “Oops. Wish I had some change for ya, fella.” His words are soaked in a southern twang. “Real sorry,” he says.
RealThe driver shakes his head, throttles away.
Reggie begins to devour his lunch. He bites and chomps and swallows and sips. He pretends to be invisible.
“Hey,” the boy says.
Reggie peers up.
Trousers hang on his hips. “You in the choir too?”
“Oh. No. I just work here.”
Pimples pock the boy’s forehead and cheeks. “When does practice start?”
“They usually meet at four-thirt
