{ ... }

۞

  Llugnurgus was up and out of bed three times in one night.  Most nights.  Passing water.  This was when Llugnurgus was much much older.  When he wasn't passing water he was a lousy wine consumer.  Turning wine to water every time he went for a wee, thaumaturgy.  

  {passing the river}  

  People would come out of the night club and see him walking by.  

  {staggers drunk}  

  {curses no one}  

  {addresses everyone}  

  “Revolving door, married within a year!” he would drunkenly shout.  

  Llugnurgus shoutèd at the youthful night population as if in consternation on a Joycean peregrination.  The same people saw him in church the very next day, every Sunday, the morning after the night before.  The church had a revolving door.  It was the nightclub the night before.  

  Two in, two out.  Full to the rafters every Saturday night, as if it was a rite.  As if it was a rite of passage to be out all night.  

  Two in, two out.  Full to the rafters every Sunday morning, hearing the preaching.  

  “Consummating heaven and earth again, vicar?” one would heckle.  

  “Married within a year!” Llugnurgus respondèd.  

  {one finger points to the sky}  

  Llugnurgus was an experimental philosopher.  A messiah abuser.  People would come to hear the gospel.  

  {steeple}  

  “The Pope now says it might be legal to use a condom.  Legal?” said Llugnurgus, “what does The Pope think he is, political?  Anyway, back to what's crucial.  The condom issue.  The Pope's not that sure about ratifying the sanction of it yet.” Llugnurgus went on: “he's still thinking about losing it.”  

  “Oneg for Olam,” said one from the Congregation.  

  “Olam for Oneg,” replièd Llugnurgus.  

  “Rechteg-peg,” slurrèd one.  

  {hungover}  

  For months after, time passèd, with much laughter.  

۝