Beatitude No. 4
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.
Observe the writer, yes, the writer is in your midst, working in your café, diligently making it through page upon page. With his hand cocked against his shoulder, he rests his chin in concentration. He breathes through his nose. Facing the door, and with his back to the restrooms, he can see everyone as they come in, but he pays them little attention; they are not important to him beyond their capacity to offer the writer a backdrop to concentrate against. As he reads and sporadically types on his keyboard, he falls through his eyes into the pages before him; he plummets down and away from the back of his chair, discovering. If, by some thwarting of his practice he happens to look up, his is surprised, not at whatever is was that brought him back to the world, but by the fact that somehow, incomprehensibly, there is a world to come back to at all. His mouth will open slightly. His eyebrows might rise. He is shocked by the realness of the world before him; he blinks, fondly, with delayed recognition. Today, bright lights of creation are too much for him.