Bruce Golden

He drifted out of Redemption Hall into the sublime sunshine and took a long last look at the heavy double doors closing behind him.  He felt like a new man, and, thanks to the divine guidance of the Holy Father’s 1,012-step plan, he was as new as a rosebud about to bloom on a spring day.  New as the first tinkling laugh of an infant.  New as the glossy coat on a freshly painted ’65 Mustang.  New as . . . well, you get the general idea.

Yesterday’s Jesse was gone, cleansed of his rancor, his negativity, his derision.  No more would he ride the storm of discontent.  He couldn’t wait to embrace the world–the warmth of its breezes, the music of its soul, the puppy-dog playfulness of its children.  He was also very hungry.

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