“Shall I draw god for you? Come out with me.”
He grabbed a can full of pipes of chalk, bent down on the middle street stood and drew a line, a longer and longer line, because he just kept walking backwards.
“Look out,” I cried, “a car.”
He continued writing with a bend around the car away.
“Do you draw a cross?”
He paused for a moment, looked at me and said,
“I don’t draw jesus, god I have said.”
He continued down the street. Immediately he bumps into something, or are they driving him to pieces, I thought, when he without looking out a side street went before.
At the end of the street was a cross street. He paused and turned to the right.
I’ll need a plane soon to see god.
He went on and wrote down crayon after crayon. cars honked and flew past him, but he didn’t look up or back.
He had been busy for about three hours now. I was still chasing him.
Suddenly he stopped
“What is going on ?” I asked. “I’m sorry, I’ve run out of chalk.
If it doesn’t rain tonight, I’ll go tomorrow at nine o’clock. So are you there too?”