The Prowler, the Skinhead, and the Holy Ghost

I wanted to ask Jeremiah how he ended up a homeless squatter in Venice Beach after being an evangelical, but I wasn't sure how to pose the question.

"What the hell are you two talking about?" asked Ed, who had been patiently drinking Miller and chatting with Bonnie about which was better — staring off into space, or reading a book?

Jeremiah and I were actually pretty relieved to be interrupted, because we were reaching full-profundity brain saturation.

We quickly changed topics to the skate park down the street and then called it a night.

The cop eventually came by my house and had me sign some forms. I was shocked to see that the kid was being charged with a felony. Apparently he was on probation for trespassing, had a few warrants for other things, and, to quote the cop, "had other issues."

"He's going away for a long time," the policeman said proudly. I had a knot in my stomach.

"I can't help but feel bad for him," I said again.

"Don't," said the cop bluntly, a little exasperated. "We all make choices in life."

Then he gave me a copy of the paperwork, shook my hand, and drove away.