I look over my shoulder at my back in the bathroom mirror. My tattoo might not be finished but I still think it's magnificent. I wouldn't have thought I would like something so large but it's so dramatic, so — well — beautiful. I hope Joe thinks so too.I sprawl on the bed and flick on the television. I haven't seen any in two months and I can't say I've missed it. I thumb through channels aimlessly, then click it off and toss the remote aside. I stretch out on the bed and suddenly I'm really. Karen led the way toward the back of the tent and the flickering light. She stood silently before the drapes for several seconds considering what to do, when suddenly the deep booming voice of reverend Bishop, coming from the room beyond, and filled the massive tent, "Do come in," the voice commanded. "It would be a shame to do otherwise. You have come such a long way."At the sound of Bishop's voice Art said. "What the fuck is all this bullshit? Come on let's get this shit over with." He pushed. Dad was probably finishing up a round of golf, and mom was likely at her bridge club, or visiting friends and showing off her grandson. The phone had been ringing for several minutes. I sighed heavily, hung up and went over to the couch. I sat down heavily and buried my face in my hands as tears of frustration welled up in my eyes. I took a shuddering breath as I silently berated myself. “You are such a fuck-up,” I thought to myself. “Why did you sleep through the alarm? Why didn’t you check in. Further on down the shore a cliff loomed out of the murk, forcing their steps directly up to the water’s edge. As he trod gingerly along the path, instinctively avoiding the small waves which lapped incessantly against the shore, the falling man heard the sound of a child weeping. He picked up the pace a bit, until he discovered a small door set into the rock, behind which was the apparent source of melancholia. There were no windows, keyholes, or even a knob on this door, but from a tiny crack.
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