As I sat broken down, I saw the fellowship of the most tiny tribe of worshipers. Under their halogen lighting and behind a bent and rusted door made of iron bars, they worshiped on the corner of a retro strip mall facing a semi-busy street. I imagined myself running across the street, letting myself past the gates and finding relief from a higher spirit. But I was too afraid, too alone to even move. I imagined myself as a traveler, a stumbler-into of magical life experiences. I imagined a certain liberation from all fears and the trust that nothing could go wrong if I jumped into this holy scene. Can you see her? The young Lolita, stumbling haplessly on odd adventures, but meanwhile accidentally touching people's lives. She learns something new and the sun sets as she sets out for another great story in the making. But on this particular evening, I was not her.