The unrepentant atheist finds himself under assault when his neighbor’s words flare like rockets. They start out as small as sparklers in a child’s hand. But with every sentence they grow hotter, angrier, redder, until one’s fist feels like it clenches a lit M-80, an inhuman kind of energy, about to rip flesh from bone. The unrepentant atheist cannot find it in himself to apologize for this situation; only try to deal with it. He expects to laugh about it later. This gives him hope, keeps him nervous. Not being a Catholic, he cannot go to confession. There is no other way.
