Once, sitting in my parent's kitchen, I watched a mouse drag itself across the floor. It was folded in half; a mouse trap scraped along behind it.

The first time I went to church was probably at a construction site. I was a laborer. The minister had a face that looked like the gnarled bark of a very old tree. He was the lead carpenter and I don’t think he liked me very much. Understandable: I barely knew how to hold a hammer. The eucharist was a horribly dry peanut butter and jam sandwich. Blood of Christ, jellied for you. The cathedral was a cold and wet, freshly framed bunkie on the side of a cliff. The incense was a mason’s sog...