I haven’t prayed since I was a boy. My mother is Armenian, so I’m not even Greek Orthodox, I was baptised into her communion. She insists it’s the oldest Christian church in the world, the true successor to St. Paul, and fuck the Pope. But now I’m praying, and I’m not praying to God at all. I back away: you don’t turn away from a shark, they’re ambush predators. Without regret, I let the shiny wristwatch I wear diving in defiance of common sense fall into the depths, watch the shark’s eyes shift as it tumbles, end over end. I keep inching backwards through the water, trying to remember where the boat is, and I’m holding out the little waterproof camera in front of me, preparing to trigger the self-timed flash and let it go as another distraction. It’s a Sony, overpriced from an airport shop, because I was bored. So this is how I pray: