Johnny and Dahlia leaned against a chain link fence on an empty pier.
"I smell roses," said Johnny.
"Jesus was here."
"I thought He was everywhere."
"And what does that mean? If He's everywhere, why pray to Him? How can you follow Him? No, Jesus is back. He's come back."
"Yeah, I know."
"Is that why you've come to see me?"
"No. It's because you're a saint."
"I'm not much of a saint."
Johnny took hold of her hand and lifted it up. Blood glistened in the center of the palm like a large ruby. He turned her hand to the back. Another ruby of blood in the center.
"But you are a saint," he said.
"Maybe."
"Well, I'm here to help you. We've been waiting for you a long time."
"We who?"
"The Church."
She grabbed his head and kissed him so passionately that she missed his lips. Sweat that had collected on the tip of her nose rubbed into the soft skin under his eye.
"I'm not a very good saint," she said as she pulled away. She had never in her life grabbed a man and kissed him until that moment. She had never acted like a beautiful woman until that moment, with her gray hair unpiled from her head and curling awkwardly downward.
"I think you're very good," said Johnny, a spot of blood sparkling on each cheek.
Object: tomorrow