The Mission_(1)
The Mission Beneath the I-12 underpass, the huddled form was barely visible in the twilight as I headed home from stocking up on a few essentials before the predicted storm front arrived. Wrapped in a black garbage bag clutching a small second generation handbag, the hapless figure beneath the overpass was well suited for a homeless poster but ill equipped for the torrential rain predicted. Pulling my aging Merc as close as possible, I literally drug the lifeless form into the back seat before easing back into traffic as a strong wind gust heralded the storms arrival. My intention of dropping the ragged bundle at a nearby homeless shelter, was irretrievably altered by a lightning strike close enough to make the fine hairs on my neck stand on end followed by a peal of thunder …