Dear Pilgrim,

I think you are very beautiful. If you open your mind, I'm sure God can find a place in his heart to forgive you. But only if you are prepared to accept that you are a sinful, infectious pox on humanity, and that your existence is fundamentally flawed. I think we should meet.

My house is on the purple prairy, beneath the green moon just right off James Street. I proposed that you stumble upon my dwelling at approximately 1930 hours on the 15th of August in this, the two thousandth and sixth year of Our Lord. Ring the door bell three times, turn and urinate on the verandah, then take three steps toward the letter box and scream "TAKE ME, I AM YOURS!" twenty seven times to signal your homecoming.

The sky is falling, little hen. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Cower in the shadow of the clouds as they decend and brace yourself for the end of the world.

All my love,

Rosemary Cartier

xx

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