2 JORNIE MOGRE
“We each took one,” Jay said. He was now in the front row of his
father’s church, his mother was at the piano and his brothers and sisters
sat beside him. The congregation had no faces. He looked at his brothers
and sisters and they had no faces, he looked at his mother and father—
“Man, you’re going to be tripping for a long time,” Ezra said. “An-
other six or eight hours at least. And when you crash you are going to
crash hard.”
“Man, why does anyone take this stuff? It’s gonna kill me, man.”
“You'll be all right.”
“What am I going to do, man? What am I going to do?” Jay sobbed.
“It’s Sunday. I should be in church. Man, we have to find a church. We
have to go where the death demon can’t get us. I gotta find a church,
man.”
“No,” Ezra said. “You don’t want to go to a strange church tripping
on acid.”
“I gotta get to church, man. It’s Sunday. I have to go to church. My
father wants me in church. It’s the Last Days, man, and evil is being
turned loose on the world.” His speech was rapid and desperate, the
words spitting out like bullets from a machine gun.
Ezra wanted to tell him that his father was not there, his father did
not know Jay was tripping on LSD. But Ezra knew nothing could be ex-
plained to Jay while he was still peaking on the acid. He had to humor him
until he came down. As dawn strayed golden fingers upon the streets of
San Francisco, they walked in search of a church. Jay constantly looked
over his shoulder for the stalking demon. He could not see him, but he
could hear his footsteps.