I happened upon a brick building on Tremont Street while walking back downtown from the vegetarian food festival in Roxbury with Kassia. It appeared perfectly circular, windowless, and unremarkable aside from these two features. An old sign in front of it read “Church of All Nations,” white paint on dark hardwood. It reminded me of the terrifying empty zero, and what a perfect house for the God of All Nations.
The wind was cold, but it was an altogether pleasant day.