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Tonight I spend another late evening at the same Starbucks branch, a literal corner coffee shop. (As it is situated in a corner.) I don’t particularly like Starbucks. I don’t particularly like coffee. So I take a mug of green tea. I love the taste of green tea, plus it has the added benefit of helping me take a crap.

I’m currently reading from too many books at the same time, and they’re all piled on my table so I probably look like a nerd – which I am.

There are things I can’t explain but I know in my heart to be true, the things I can’t define but neither can I deny.

Are they, as Plato says, the recollections of my soul, my recollections of heaven? For somehow the divine has been experienced for I long for it. Maybe as I was knit in my mother’s womb by God Himself?

If you offered me the chance to enter a refrigerator, suspended 16 floors above ground, trapped inside with an old bald man who begins and ends, and peppers his phrases with the word “f—“, such as “F—! I can’t f—ing smoke these f—ing cigarette f—ers!” I would decline.

But here I find myself in an elevator experiencing exactly that.