Mass Congestion

Since I gave up on chemical reliances, I don’t have much to keep me going. The nearest I've got to a high recently has been the elevator, and even then I took the stairs to avoid the comedown. Of all the legal options, vitamin c is my only vice; alcohol, coffee and smokes are a no-no, I even think twice before a Sprite. Of course, there's only so much you can give up before you realise the deep, desparate human need for escape. There's nothing worse than being consistently present, true consciousness the final curse of the human condition. For me, the only way to sate this despair is to connect to the great Out There, and going to mass every week is my way of doing that. It's important to me. Actually, it's more like vital. I start to go a bit strange when separated from the Host for too long. It's like a spiritual weetabix. Unless you're allergic to wheat. Out here, the churches are few and far between, well, actually, two and far between, but for a half hour cab ride I can make it to the one near the river. It has a huge Filipino congregation, maybe a thousand I'd say, although I'm no rain man, and I've been going every week. I love it, my one moment of true stillness in the desert. However leaving is a problem. The first time I went outside I hit the street along with the entire contents of that church. And the Filipino's seem to have surpassed queueing. It was more like an ever moving stream of one-upmanship, progressing rapidly down the road, until they may as well have walked to their destination. I secretly delighted in the disparity from the innocence and bliss displayed inside those stone walls to out here where cabs are as rare as clouds and fought over by scratch and claw. Me? I just crossed the road. No-one seemed to be aware of this other lane of traffic, and after flagging down a cab I stopped another two by accident. Still, it's nice to have the choice.