Gosh, it's good. He works the crowd with that affirming theme, and the bright-eyed workers behind the counter look on with approving smiles. But gradually the juice he's extolling seems to possess him like the holy spirit. He's suddenly all aquiver, arms outstretched and flaying the air, legs wobbling like tofu. Reverend Billy is shouting now.
People live nearby and remember what used to be there.
He'll choose a bunch to perform with the writer present in the Starbucks of the writer's choice. Within a day of his e-mailed call for such texts he has received 80 of them. Such prose makes the reverend rapturous. They're actively missing people and places. He pauses, as if to leave some space for a few amens.