Signs of Change

Seeking redemption, just in case, a scattergun approach to Zen, she collected her spare change and made for the church on Duval at Eaton Street.

She reckoned the donation would in some primordial way ward off ill will.

She was modern, she was western, but on a primitive level she never conquered her superstitions. She believed in signs.

The route she chose from her home on Solaris Hill took her by Fausto's Food Palace, and the antiques store, and the brothel, boldly named 'Living Dolls', as if to coyly dissuade the necrophiliacs? This is a place where for a price everyone's clothes come off.

There's a man a few stores down the street who refers to them as "The Whore Next Door".

Which got her thinking, why not them? As beneficiaries of the coins. Certainly they were as deserving as any church. After all, no one climbs the pole just for the fun of it, not at work anyway.

She placed the plastic bag heavy with silvery and coppery coins, and spread it flat at the center of the black rubber doormat. A heap of winking metal petals. Just to say, fare thee well on your quest.

When she got to the corner she turned to see the bag was already gone. She wished she'd seen who'd taken it. Obviously it was the right place to put it.

She interpreted this as a good sign. A chit for the future. Just in case.