Bleeding the Little Lambs by James Crawford

Author:James Crawford [Crawford, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-01T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

How can I even think about groceries after meeting the Big Three? How can I think about eating chicken with signs in it? How can I think about drinking a glass of wine?

Well, I can think about drinking a glass of wine pretty easily. I savored drinking it. It was amazing.

I ordered some hummus from Mr. Sharif, who was still grinning from ear to ear.

“How often do they come in here?” I asked him.

“Every year or so. Sometimes they bring very interesting people along. For example, they brought Ra last year and Zoroaster the year before.”

“That is so fucked up.” I shook my head, in a state of peaceful disbelief.

“True, but strangely comforting too.” He grinned, and went to get my hummus.

In the rollercoaster ride of religious experiences, I didn’t remember that I hadn’t brought my notebook along...or a pen...to write down a grocery list in the first place. I swore mightily, but quietly, and wondered if I could borrow a sheet and something to write with.

When my hummus appeared, I asked my friend, who graciously provided what I needed.

About another hour went by before I completed my list. I was probably suffering from “spiritual overload”...I just coined that term...because I found the pen writing out passages from the New Testament, the Quran, and Sutras, instead of things like celery, milk, cereal, and cat food. So annoying.

When I felt able to drive, I asked for the check. My desire to pay for my food was gently waved away. Apparently, Muhammad paid for my meal. Damn, what a day!

Before I left, Mr. Sharif gave me a hug. “Thank you for keeping us safe. Please do not go to Denny’s anymore, it is bad for you.”

Well, my secret identity is now common knowledge to the owner of my favorite kabob restaurant. I couldn’t imagine what Harry would say about that, and I really didn’t want to. Better to focus on stocking my home with things to make meals with than contemplating things that may or may not happen.

A quick trip later, I parked at the market across the road, grabbed a basket, and walked in. There were a lot of shoppers for a weekday afternoon, but I didn’t pay it much mind. My concern was the vegetables and fruits section, where I normally begin my shopping trips.

The apples looked good this week, so I picked up a pound or two, and decided I could use a few bananas. I walked into the seafood department. The fish didn’t look anywhere near as good as the fruit. I kept seeing a message superimposed on my vision, “Am I not a living being, and a brother?”

Buddha is insistent.

There was an older man looking at the fish. I thought I heard him say something, so I said, “Excuse me?”

He turned to me with a smile on his face that showed the line of his dentures, and he wheezed, “Danny Glover undercover, Alexa. Crispin Glover pierced that rubber.”

“Shit.” Either this guy was a demon, or an older person who’d fallen prey to possession.

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