Truth in tongues

He was crouching next to me, every so often changing posture to ease the burden on his legs. I glanced at his bristly and smiling cheeks through my sun glasses. I was not sure though if the scent of cigarettes was coming from him or if it was just lingering from whoever had held this bench before me.

They spoke in tongues, he said.

Passing by was a man speaking to himself, though I knew it was because he wore an ear piece. In the distance a Green Peace activist waved with a tag around her neck and a clip board in her hand. She held out her hand to the man. He, accustomed to such spiels, ignored her and walked by. The man beside me held no books or flyers.

I understand, I was once skeptical like you, he said.

The hourly advertisement came on across the Square’s PA system. I knew the song of by heart by now. Still, I was not sure if I preferred it to the regular political broadcasts on the screen. No one seemed to pay attention to those anyway.

You have to experience his love yourself, just give it a chance, he said.

A picture of a building came to mind. Inside it stood two dozen ordinary people staring towards the sky. An invisible light shone through them. They felt it together. Two minutes were turning into twenty. I looked at the town clock to see how much longer I had on my break.

We may be reborn in a galaxy far away, he said.

Maybe we will, I said.

And then I left.

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