Tangent

Pray for Ricky Lewis.

I have no idea who Ricky Lewis is. An underlined name inside the front cover of a second-hand Bible I picked up somewhere a few years ago, maybe more, since I seem to feel time passing slower than it is.
Am I supposed to know Ricky Lewis?
Will I know him in the future? And what is the future? Is it an already planned timeline, dotted off segments of linear space like the ones I used to draw in History class? Really I would have to argue that my life, if laid out linearly, feels more like a cosign or secant with some tangents snuck in there.

He could actually look like the guy I see walking along the sidewalk everyday with the angry-pumpkin-eyes.

No.
Maybe Ricky's the tall, skinny pale guy. He and I pass on the sidewalk at odd times.
It's crossed my mind that he might be the Angel of Death.
"I've pigeon-holed him," I think.
Maybe not death at all. Maybe his skinny fingers and bald white head with the cigarette stuck in his pie-hole is the visage of utter bliss.