Paul’s ancient eyes looked down from the green sloping hill upon the shell of what had been a Catholic Church. It had long since fallen into disrepair; its bricks lay smashed and broken in the remains of what had been a parking lot.
Paul recalled attending mass there with his grandparents. Receiving the wafer with his right hand cradling his left. Lifting the gold plated cup to his lips and sipping. Father Durant used to put his massive arm around his shoulder and talk to him about his plans to be a baseball player or pilot.
Paul felt the nostalgia but no regret. Good riddance, he thought. What good were you?
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