Jesus' Son

by Denis Johnson

The mild spring evening, after several frozen winter months, was like a foreigner breathing in our faces.

I was a whimpering dog inside, nothing more than that. I looked for work because people seemed to believe I should look for work, and when I found a job I believed I was happy about it because these same people—counselors and Narcotics Anonymous members and such—seemed to think a job was a happy thing.