He sits under the canopy at the camp-
site on a cool, damp morning having
just returned from a somewhat painful
jog on his arthritic knee. He takes

pain pills knowing that an over-easy
egg on the rest of last night’s goulash
will be served shortly thus absorbing
some of the anti-inflammatory med-

icine. He listens to the local, classical,
music station, opens his computer and
goes online only to read of the capture
of some maniacal, twenty-one-year-

old, white guy who walked into a black
church, sat in a prayer meeting for an
hour, stated, “You rape our women; you
are taking over our country and you have

to go,” before discharging and reloading
his gun five times killing nine prayers
before walking out and driving away.
The man’s knee begins to feel better and

the radio station hosts keep kidding each
other during the spring fund drive before
playing a piece by Robert Schumann.
The news comes on with a report about

the white supremacist, lunatic’s hate crime.
A syndicated program featuring Sir Edgar
Elgar and cello concertos follows. The
sky is getting darker and it looked like

it is going to rain. The man listening to
the cello, closes the computer and is
glad for the canopy as the rain begins
to fall. Tearing, he repeats the Kyrie.