7.24.2003
real live preacher
I drop my disc bag and unzip it. They catch the flash of color and understand that I have serious plastic. All high quality. All fly-dye. You don't carry discs like this unless you know what you're doing.
I pull out a handful of paperback New Testaments and pass them around. I'm one short. I hesitate a second, then pull a beer out of my disc bag and give that to the last guy.
“Sorry dude, I'm out of bibles.”
They receive these gifts like some people receive communion – with childlike stares. It seems like something important is happening, but they aren't exactly sure what it is.
I put my hand up like a gospel singer to feel the air. The breeze is with me and slightly right, so I pull out my 170-gram Cheetah, the one with the very cool dye job. I roll my head around and work my wrist a couple of times before yankin that sumbitch down the fairway, right-center. My snap is enough to turn it over a bit, so it yawns right before fading left and parking right at the base of the basket.
“Booyah.”
While I’m gathering up my shit I can hear the silence behind me. I turn around and give em the good word.
"That’s the power of prayer, my sons. The power of prayer. Now turn from your wicked-ass ways."
I drop my disc bag and unzip it. They catch the flash of color and understand that I have serious plastic. All high quality. All fly-dye. You don't carry discs like this unless you know what you're doing.
I pull out a handful of paperback New Testaments and pass them around. I'm one short. I hesitate a second, then pull a beer out of my disc bag and give that to the last guy.
“Sorry dude, I'm out of bibles.”
They receive these gifts like some people receive communion – with childlike stares. It seems like something important is happening, but they aren't exactly sure what it is.
I put my hand up like a gospel singer to feel the air. The breeze is with me and slightly right, so I pull out my 170-gram Cheetah, the one with the very cool dye job. I roll my head around and work my wrist a couple of times before yankin that sumbitch down the fairway, right-center. My snap is enough to turn it over a bit, so it yawns right before fading left and parking right at the base of the basket.
“Booyah.”
While I’m gathering up my shit I can hear the silence behind me. I turn around and give em the good word.
"That’s the power of prayer, my sons. The power of prayer. Now turn from your wicked-ass ways."