Woke this morning

to the sound of the mosque up the street. To the ashcan death-rattle of Chinese-made rectifiers cranked to 11. To a mucusy throat clearing scrawled across the morning quiet. Mango leaves rattling and the beer bottle shaken off the bedstead and the cat gone, then, howling, tail bottle brushed.

And then the word of God made public.

Praise Him clutching the porcelain bowl, humping its coolth as dawn spreads her pink across the river. Ask His forgiveness head buried in the fragrant spew of Johnny Talker and last night’s all you can eat sushi mistake. Thank Him when silence returns.

Today, later, when I've sobered up a little, I'm going to start a blog to tell him what I think of things.