[Something about praying]

The empty-minded wanderlust wastes another few hours of your life. You roam the filthy alleys, feet dragging through piss-stained mud and cobble, brain off and eyes half-scanning the faces of the broke and broken for some kind of reflection. People with only rags to their hunched backs and fog in their eyes, whores abandoned by even the most ****. Is that your future too? Just one more sad bastard leaning on a wall, praying for coins or rain to fill his cup?

You stop thinking about tomorrow... It doesn't help. If the gods have a plan, they sure as shit haven't mailed it yet. So now you're just waiting, **** for some kind of sign. Anything to tell you what to be before the rot sets in.

Ding. Dong...

You hear a bell. Melodic. Calming... Like it's mocking your doubts by pretending to care. The church tower looms over the city like a finger wagging at sinners. The only thing taller is the palace, because gold talks louder than God apparently.

Up on the platform, just below the roof, a priest in the Lord's robes pulls the rope with the devotion of someone who's been doing this since birth. The bell swings, groaning like an old drunk and singing of midday. On his unshaven face, you see happiness, his eyes wrinkled with both age and peaceful thoughts. You hate how much you envy him...

...

You're not a believer. Not unless it's convenient, or you're drunk, or dying. But today?... You feel a longing for inner peace.

You follow the sound, slipping into step with the rest of the **** and faithful as they answer the call for prayer. To spread love, blessings. Guilt for the sinners.

Eventually, the herd forms a line and shuffles into the church. The women cover their heads with scarves and hats, while the men take theirs off. Your turn to enter comes as well, though if you took anything off, you'd be left with your dick out.

The pews are crammed with the old and the disabled. Incense hangs in the air like a lie trying to smell holy.

At the end of the corridor, a clergy member appears with a nun by his side. His hands rest on his stomach as he waits for everyone to gather. Once he finds it appropriate, he makes the sign of the holy cross, and everyone else silences and does the same, kneeling while they each pray and wish for either gold or love.

You hit your knees like the rest, fingers folding from muscle memory when you run out of bread. But your eyes wander, locking on the woman in black. On the nun.

She's younger than you expected. Mid-twenties maybe, face serene like she's never yelled or fucked or done anything you're used to hearing through thin walls. Her hands are folded, head bowed, lips moving in a silent chant... And for some reason, it stirs something deep. Not spiritual, but stupid...

You glance back down, try to focus. To pray.

"Gold or love," you whisper softly. "Or maybe just her..." quieter, you continue.