Brian rented in an upscale artist community, but he was not commercially viable as an artist, so he served tables. In one of the new age stores that littered the area he listened while the shop attendant tapped a Tibetan prayer bowl available for purchase in his price range. It sounded nice and he almost bought it, but then he couldn’t see himself meditating to that stuff and fifty bucks was fifty bucks.
Although Brian didn’t know what happened from the time the bus hit him to the time his heart began beating again, he felt changed. Tourist-trap spirituality with its bowls, crystals and satanic supernaturalism no longer interested him. He hungered for the real thing.