= 19. =
 Martin rejoiced in the warmth. His shivering body slowly unclenched. His muscles ached where they had been cold and tight. He and Jimmy stood under separate shower heads, masked in a thick cloud of hot steam.
"This is wonderful," Martin said. "I have never enjoyed a shower so much."
In fact, just getting warm was painful when he’d been cold and wet for at least an hour.
"You are sincere," Jimmy said. "They will like that."
"Who are these people?"
Jimmy shrugged. "The world is full of mysteries. You people who whizz by in the cars and have jobs, you go to college and cash paychecks, you own dogs and cats that you do not eat to survive—you have no idea what goes on in reality, right under your noses."
"Wow," Martin said. "We are inside the bizarre worlds of Alienopolis."
"Amen, brother."
"You weren’t talking like that a few minutes ago," Martin said while sudsing himself with a large lilac-scented bar of department store soap.
"We adapt to fit the occasion," Jimmy said. "It’s evolution. We are chameleons. We change our spots as necessary. That’s how I have stayed alive all these years. I beat the demon dope that killed my parents."
"You do smoke marijuana," Martin suggested. "You were asking about dope when we first met."
"Oh that, yeah." Jimmy scrubbed his underarms with a washcloth, keeping one arm half raised. "Some of these churches use Mary Jane as a sacrament. The key is to let nothing surprise you."
Martin nodded. "This is heaven."
"They believe it is the doorway to heaven."
"And this is sunny Southern California."
"It never rains in Southern California," Jimmy ad-libed tunelessly from a long-ago rock song. "But when it rains, oh Lord it pours, man it pours…I wanna go ho-o-o-o-o-m-m-e…"
Martin could have cried, thinking about how he missed the sunshine on the beach by the crab shack. He longed to be with his buddies—Paul Lo, Joe Logan, Harry Markowitz, Rob Castillo—and the women of their gang—Alicia Washington, Carol Monegan—with all of their secrets and whatnots. So according to Maritza Dusenbery, old quiet blonde bland Carol Monegan had a secret second life as a woman-loving superheroine. What else?
"We only live once," Jimmy Sprocket said amid puffs of steam. He raised his face as if rejoicing in the Lord, or in the hot water deliciously pummeling him. "Enjoy our passage through this vale of tears and terrors, and make the most of every opportunity for three hots and a cot."
"I think I am developing prune skin," Martin said, looking at bluish-white fingertips that resembled decaying grapes.
"Time to get out and start praying. My stomach is growling up a thunderstorm." Jimmy reached up with a bare, brown arm and turned off a large industrial faucet.
Martin did the same.
"Grab a towel and rejoice," Jimmy said. As they briskly toweled in a locker room nearby, whose tiles smelled of hot chlorine, he added, "They like it when you rejoice a lot."
"I’m rejoicing," Martin said.
"You sound sincere," Jimmy said admiringly.
"I am sincere. This hot shower has been one of the happiest moments of my life."
"We are salvaged."
"We are saved."
"That too. Keep rejoicing, brother."
"Amen," Martin said.
"Get that singing voice tuned up," Jimmy urged darkly.
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Thank you for reading the first half (free, what I call the Bookstore Metaphor). If you love it, you can (easily and safely at Amazon) buy the whole e-book for the painless price of a cup of coffee—also known as Read-a-Latte (hours of reading enjoyment; the coffee is gone in minutes, but the book stays with you forever). You can also get those many hours of happy reading from the print edition for the price of a sandwich (no, I don't have a metaphor for that, like a 'sandwich metaphor?'). To help the author, please recommend this book your friends, and also post a favorable (five star!) review at Amazon, Good Reads, and similar online reader resources. Thank you (JTC).
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