The thin man in the white button-down shirt opens his worn Bible, thumbs through the thin pages until his finger stops, his tongue briefly touching his lips in concentration. “Here it is, Isaiah 37. This is the scripture…” he begins but can’t get any further before Jack is on top of him. Big heavy fists on white flesh. The Bible falls, lands askew on red-inked passages. A low, hoarse mewl comes from Jack between the thumps of bone on wet, split skin.
Jack opens his eyes and the man is sitting next to him, Bible in lap, finger steadily moving along with his voice. “And God said unto man, go forth from the land of Canan, and make unto your self a Land.” He pauses and swallows audibly, like a filter gurgling in a pool then continues.
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