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The way of all flesh

As the sun rose, I drove twenty-seven miles to my office at the little church in the Cajun swamps. Even though visitors to the office were rare, I showed up on time each day. Determined on my journey, I felt that familiar wave as I crossed the bayou. I eased my car to the gravelly side of the road. I stood, stretched. Breathed deeply. The nausea didn’t pass, so I opened up the passenger’s door, the back door, and sat in the front seat without the steering wheel. I closed my eyes and breathed some more. The doors and the passenger’s seat were part of my privacy rituals.