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Where
would
Jesus
be
if
no
one
had
written
the
gospels
?
Four
minutes
.
I
tongue
the
gun
barrel
into
my
cheek
and
say
,
you
want
to
be
a
legend
,
Tyler
,
man
,
I
'll
make
you
a
legend
.
I
've
been
here
from
the
beginning
.
I
remember
everything
.
Three
minutes
.
Bob
's
big
arms
were
closed
around
to
hold
me
inside
,
and
I
was
squeezed
in
the
dark
between
Bob
's
new
sweating
tits
that
hang
enormous
,
the
way
we
think
of
God
's
as
big
.
Going
around
the
church
basement
full
of
men
,
each
night
we
met
:
this
is
Art
,
this
is
Paul
,
this
is
Bob
;
Bob
's
big
shoulders
made
me
think
of
the
horizon
.
Bob
's
thick
blond
hair
was
what
you
get
when
hair
cream
calls
itself
sculpting
mousse
,
so
thick
and
blond
and
the
part
is
so
straight
.
His
arms
wrapped
around
me
,
Bob
's
hand
palms
my
head
against
the
new
tits
sprouted
on
his
barrel
chest
.
"
It
will
be
alright
,
"
Bob
says
.
"
You
cry
now
.
"
From
my
knees
to
my
forehead
,
I
feel
chemical
reactions
within
Bob
burning
food
and
oxygen
.
"
Maybe
they
got
it
all
early
enough
,
"
Bob
says
.
"
Maybe
it
's
just
seminoma
.
With
seminoma
,
you
have
almost
a
hundred
percent
survival
rate
.
"
