by Matt Rollins

Morning smelled like the night before: fish oil, chili pepper and fried prawns, all confused by the chalk dust of jasmine incense. We sat, our bare feet pressed against the wood floor, pointed politely away from each other. "Would I be accepted into your Heaven?" asked Atthasat. I looked past him. At the front of the driveway, near the trash bins, two monks stood patiently, each with a clay bowl. "Well, from a strictly biblical standpoint - no, you wouldn't."


Matt Rollins is a graphic designer who also writes.