You
can usually find him
inside
the old downtown
train
tunnel.
At
his feet will be
a
jug of water.
In
his hand,
a
Bible.
He
won’t rant to you about
the
end of the world
Or
ask for your money.
This
preacher will just stand
in
his tunnel
with
his supplies
and
express a love
for
Jesus
in
an honest,
Almost
touching way.
Sometimes
he
sings hymns
which
I’m positive
he’s
making up as he goes.
Other
times
he
baptizes staggering tourists
as
they pass by
on
their way to the
Little
Nugget.
(That’s
what the jug of water
is
for)
There’s
a fanny pack under his
protruding
gut;
its
bright yellow color,
a
relic of the 1980s.
No
object,
article
of clothing,
or
hair dye
will
ever be manufactured
with
this
reckless
shade of yellow
ever
again.
The
only thing in the entire
physical
world
that
shares this fanny pack’s hue
are
the lights
lining
each of the casinos
here
in Reno.
And
that’s when it finally hits me.
This
man.
This
town.
They’re
made for each other.
It’s
a leather-bound Bible
with
whiskey-stained pages
And
more quotable lines than The Big Lebowski.
It’s
a jug of holy water
with
a gallon full of hope
And
a blue Save Mart label on the side
It’s
a tiny yellow light
That
blinks like Crazy George
And
replaces all the stars in the sky.
It’s
a preacher
who
doesn’t want to save you.
It’s
a town
that
doesn’t need saving.
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