Oliver Benjamin
Partment’s homeless cadre quickly undressed and re-disheveled
themselves according to plan. No one would have imagined them
capable of such organized hijinks, or, for that matter, organized
hygiene, and so they slipped away easily into the corners of a city that
did its best to ignore them. This invisibility, Partment knew, made
them especially good guerrillas. Bystanders could not even bear to
look at them.
Roy did not sleep that night. His eyes were closed but filled with
dazzling vistas of destiny. Sprout stirred lightly as he left the bed to
visit the bathroom. After urinating, he started back to the bedroom
but altered his course. Instead of returning to Sprout, he headed out
the front door of his house and started walking along the beach to the
airport, ten miles away.
Roy had left America twice in his life. Both times he had been
sent by Bidden. This time he was called by the intimations of angels
but propelled by no momentum but his own.
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