His piss had the color and consistency of black licorice. His organs ached -- the ones he hadn't sold. He imagined fainting, his head smashing against the urinal.

No. Not again. He rested a moment then zipped up, making sure to gingerly push his cankered member away from the interlocking metal teeth.

He had a sermon to deliver on how God's mericiful intervention continues even today. He knew it wasn't true. He was proof. But he also knew that without a hearty collection basket, there would be no more hookers, no more blowjobs in the church van.

#MicroFiction #Continuationism