I count to a hundred as instructed. When I open my eyes again, a torn and bleeding god is shuffling along a street of pawnshops and check-cashing stores. There are soothing old hymns that no one dares sing. "Always keep a gun by your side," a voice meant for radio says. Someone else asks if that's the ocean or a flood. Light and shadow refuse to stand still. Foraging bees travel like rumors of the fierce sunrise of your body. I fight to stay awake until then.