I had one stop to make before we set off and I needed Buster�s help. After saying our goodbyes at the store, we arranged a time and place, a street corner not far from the store, and set off with Prue�s warning not to be late hanging I the air.� The others would wait in the old store while Buster and I made a tiny improvement to the plan.
The rain was working to our advantage now, as it was keeping all but the most determined off the streets.
We made our way as fast as we could, which meant me hurrying to keep up with Buster�s enormous strides, to the rear of the giant building that now served as the All-Church.� Originally built to bring religion to the unrepentant denizens of DownTown, it had filed in its mission and now many years later it served as a non-denominational� church, centre of charitable works and just about the only thing you could call good in the whole of the filthy, downtrodden, second class world that was known as DownTown.
The reason I knew about this was that I once made the mistake of asking Father Terry how he came to run the All-Church and I got an unwanted history lesson.� I�d really wanted to find out how to get my own building.
At the rear of the All-Church were several sheds, storage for tools and supplies that would either help run the church or help the needy.� Today, I was feeling particularly needy.
Something inside me, I suppose it might be a conscience if you believe in such things, felt it was somehow wrong to steal from someone who had shown me such kindness over the years.� I am a hard bitten, half-starved child of the streets forged by violence, harsh weather and an uncaring society and I have no time for nonsense such as guilt.� I do what I have to do to survive, I told myself as we neared the target shed, whatever makes the job easier, safer and more likely to succeed.
It was for that reason, and that reason alone, that I had volunteered for cleaning duty at the All-Church.� Much to Father Terry�s astonishment, I�d spent an hour every day for the last couple of weeks mopping, scrubbing and polishing the vast interior of the church.� Two days ago, I�d complained to the good Father about how hard the job was with old, broken and substandard equipment.� �If only,� I�d said �I had a decent mop, I�m sure I could do an outstanding job.� Make the place really shine.�
It wasn�t the prospect of a gleaming interior, I knew, although that didn�t hurt, that did the trick.� Father Terry is all about self-improvement and self-actualization and personal growth and other stuff that just passes me by.� Important thing, though, is that to encourage my personal journey and growth as a cleaner he�d bought a whole new set of tools and thrown out the old ones, which were now waiting for us in one of the sheds.� I�d even volunteered to get rid of them myself, which is exactly what we were about to do.