Explaining My Premature Death To God, Maturely

I had gone to this spot to pray on a mid-afternoon street in the city so busy the cars rarely make time to drive as they sit for hours and hours on end where I got the vague sense of familiarity commonly experienced cloud-watching when you see a single cloud, all alone, way way up in the endless sky you just know is about to change forms from a beach-ball to an elephant then into an elephant balancing a beach-ball at the tip of its trunk before the sun swallows the whole dang circus whole right before a thunderstorm rolls in to remind you that without a dang umbrella - of potential spots you could have come to - this particular spot is good a pick as any; so I sat down on the spot and crossed my legs like a proud Native American (or disgusting American hippie, depending) pulling a squished ham sandwich bleeding mayo and mustard into its proper plastic body bag from my back-hip pocket and in one bite swallowed the whole dang thing whole just in time for the 2:30pm metro bus to repay the favor to my forehead, which does feel better, thanks, God, but you’re an a-hole for even asking. 5/28