It was a quarter to midnight when he had stepped out of his car, locked the door, and kept his keys splayed between his fingers in case he needed to defend himself from some brute lurking in the shadows. An unusual vibe, which permeated the night air, unnerved him, but he dismissed his intuition as simple paranoia and pressed on.

A quick lightning flash moved across the sky, followed by a low rumble of thunder. He took a moment to scan the area and when he was satisfied that no one was around, he walked with speed toward the structure. Trepidation was his traveling partner as he moved briskly forward. During these midnight meetings, a sense of fear stimulated his desire. He walked with due speed, continuing to look around for other people, including the police, who often cruised the area on the fringes of the city. He couldn’t imagine having to explain to the police why he was lurking near the abandoned church at such a late hour.

As he neared his destination, a decrepit, gnarled wooden sign pointed toward the church like old crooked fingers guiding him to the path of salvation. When Jazz was close enough, he paused for an instant and looked up at the structure. From his distance, he could read the letters above the doors: “Olive Branch Baptist Church. All are Welcome.”