A Magazine

The early morning sunlight spreads its rays over them, the black umbrella held over him by his partner, and under its shade he opens his Bible exposing it in the sun. Beside him the old man stared at the page, squinting his eyes, his white-grey hairs glowing in the sun some sweat sliding down his sun-baked, half-dressed body, pausing from the day's toils, from news of another human being found dead in some forgotten corner of everybody's mind, while others walked by carrying their poverty in public, as some women clustered around a nearby seat where a child was crying, unmindful of another death in the neighborhood, killed with gunshots that woke them up to another day. The preacher gave him a magazine, yellow as the sun with the cover title asking, 'Angels- Are They Real?'