Most of us have a specific day of the week reserved for such a thing. Mine is Sunday. Only two deviate from this custom. Aleksandr’s tithing is a bacchanal that lasts the entire week. And Mercy? Well. Death’s call isn’t tethered to something as rudimentary as a calendar. Behind closed eyelids, I listen to the last of the Vainglory followers wax poetic at my altar. And what better altar for the servant of the god of idolatry than his naked, radiant body?
