I felt like a fucking moron, in The Tunnels, standing in front of a store full of useless knick-knacks, handing out pamphlets about our lord and savior Jesus Christ. I wasn’t doing the big man upstairs any favors. I think I might have actually converted a few people to Hinduism after they saw me as a representative of the Abrahamic religions. One old woman actually full-speed ran away from me, picking up her cane, as soon as I made eye contact with her. I did this for nearly four hours and nobody reacted much better.

But one person was very intrigued by me. They didn’t look particularly abnormal — I probably wouldn’t have been able to pick them out of a crowd — but I knew immediately he was who I was looking for just by the way he met my eyes. Plus, Anita had given me a description of him: dirty blonde hair, green eyes, pale skin, and a mole right on the tip of his nose. He almost stopped in his tracks when he saw me, like I was a hot babe in an 80s movie.

“How’s it going?” I said and tried to force a smile. “Have you been saved by our lord Jesus Christ?”

He smiled a wide smile to reveal a set of perfectly-crafted veneers that were blindingly white.

“Saved in what way?” he said wryly. He glanced down at my mark, just for a split second.

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“Uhhh… saved from sin and eternal damnation?” I said. I didn’t know much about Christianity, but that sounded right to me. The man laughed.

“You don’t sound too sure,” he said. “Are you unsure that someone — or something — is capable of saving you, or do you not want to be saved?”

I tried to think of something witty to say in response, but he continued talking before I had the chance to come up with something.

“As a matter of fact, I have been saved,” he said, “but I’m worried that you haven’t been, not really. A real follower of Christ doesn’t stand on the corner trying to scare people with threats of eternal damnation if they don’t submit to him. Jesus is about love for your fellow man. I run a little Bible study group that meets twice a week not far from here. I’d love it if you came to the next meeting.” He handed me a business card that said “Righteous Readings With Gerald Banks: Wednesdays and Sundays | 9:30pm | Fatty’s Tacos in The Tunnels.”

“Thank you sir,” I folded the card and tucked it into my pocket. “I’d be glad to join you. I’m always looking for new friends of the Lord.”

He laughed. “So am I. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Derrick, Derrick Flemmings,” I lied.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Flemmings. See you tonight.” Gerald shook my hand and resumed his walking. It had felt like an eternity, standing her attempting to hand out pamphlets, but it had worked like a charm, just as Anita said it would.