I remember the one time my roommate Evan raised his voice to me. Tonight, precisely one year after the occurrence, I can still distinctly recall every detail of that evening.
“What have you done? What in God’s name have you done?” he’d shrieked.
In those days, the existence of God was a notion even more abstract to me than home-cooked meals or loving parents or hot showers with perfumed soaps, so I laughed at him. I laughed reflexively, used the still-smoking revolver at the end of my arm to wave him off, not knowing the reason for the terrified flaring of his nostrils.
I know now.
Sure as hell, I know now…