"Piece of Christ, brethren....!  Piece of Christ here!"
A hawker squats between glowing pews.  Small packages of plain
brown paper piled on the smooth wooden seat.  I stop and stare.
Mass continues around us.  
	"Piece of Christ taken while in His passions!"  Mass
unfolds around us like origami, unfolds like incense.  A hand slips
into mine and shakes.  I feel something wet and sticky pressing my
palm.  I jerk back in reaction, gasping.
	The old hawker's face drains and Mass stutters to a sudden
stop around me. A pall descends.  I have rejected the piece of Christ
unwittingly.  Heads crank on bodies sitting still in pews.  Accusing
stares burn.
	"Forgive me, father, for the softness of my handshake,
the weakness of the will when faced with elusive flesh.  The piece
of Christ has slipped through my fingers again."