Muffled sounds. Silent loudness. Cop cars go by. Busses make stops. People walk against red lights; talking on phones, making deals, honey, I’ll be  home late.

Homeless men and women in cardboard boxes. Feces smeared on sidewalks. The smells of dirty dogs dipped in water. A greasy slice of pizza for a buck. Kids scrounging in pockets.

Lights flash as the sun goes down. Neon glows. College students drinking $8 bottles of  Budweiser or whatever is cheap and chic; PBR. The sweet smell of Indian food stinks up Lexington Avenue. A small concrete park where pigeons peck on breadcrumbs left behind. A loaf of bread is found. A loaf of bread devoured. Stale, hard, gums sink into the crust. She’s found dinner.

Meg watches from a swingset in Kips Bay. She goes up into the air like an airplane taking off, pretending that she’ll land someplace else. Heaven, perhaps. God take me away, she prays. Just take me.

She’s seen God before. On the end of a pipe. Laced joints. Huffed cans of paint. Tabs of acid. A shot of H between her toes. He was beautiful for a moment, then faded away like white smoke, only to leave her crying to see him again. But she never will.

The constant pursuit of God. Junkies, Evangelicals, Jews, Catholics, Muslims, drunks, sinners, gays, straight men in uniforms, the list goes on and on. Looking for God. One way or another.

Meg’s search began at a young age. Mom was so proud when she answered the call to be baptized; going under the water a sinner and brought back up a child of God.

Ten years old. Answering the call when she was just ten. Knowing that Jesus was born in Bethlehem and died at Calvary. Crucified. Nailed to a cross. She smiled when the preacher asked, Are you ready to be saved? Nodding and giggling, she said, yes. Yes, sir, I am.

The swing takes her nowhere, only to land back in reality. Dirty face. Ripped skirt. A tube top of red and yellow colors she stole from a thrift store. And in her purse, a tiny copy of The New Testament.