“The Following Brothers of Christ. An organization devoted to promoting the word of Christ as a shield against the corruptions of the modern.”

“Well, I’m ready, I’m ready to change, you know? Like I’ve been reading a lot of stuff online. So many ways that scientists distort the truth.”

“Good!”

“Do you have like, a pamphlet or something, a meeting or something? Like, how do I join?”

“Right here,” he says, and after digging around in a bag hands Kierk a purple pamphlet with blocky lettering reading THE THREAT OF SCIENCE. Kierk flashes a dark glance at the preacher.

“We hold weekly meetings at a chapel on Fifth Street, between First and Second. We welcome all those who come to us before Christ and agree with our mission. To get involved go to that address.”

“I’ll definitely do that. So what do you plan on doing about all the corruption from science, all the lies?”

“Well, you’ll see at the meeting.”

“Have you considered like, action?”

“Action?”

“Against science.”

“It is our duty to expose the hidden underbelly of flaws that rule over—”

“But more direct actions. Like outreach or picketing or something. Or like taking it to them, you know.” Kierk makes a punching motion.

“Stop by next Monday. You should find it very interesting.”

“Like I was reading about how they are going to like, map the human brain. Like a big brain map. What do you think of that?”

“Well obviously that would be against God, as he gave us free will.”

“Exactly.”

“You should come to one of our meetings. Fifth Street church. Most nights. The coffee is free. But right now I have to go.”

“Wait, let me tell you of my path to God.”

“Listen, I’m glad my message reached you, but I have to go now.”

“Tell me—”

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

Kierk considers following him. Instead, he watches as the preacher waits for the pedestrian walk signal with his sign and little stool. People are staring at Kierk. He pockets the pamphlet, finds his untouched grocery bags sitting on the steps, and then heads home.

In his apartment he is deep in thought weighing possibilities as he unloads the groceries. The Riesling could now almost burn skin if gripped long enough. And on picking up the small plastic container, which is aglow with a sickly warmth, something globular is dissolving. Opening it, Kierk’s upper lip sneers in disgust. The lobster salad has turned rotten from the heat.

SUNDAY