Moses Palentz stepped out onto the balcony and fired up a Marlboro. As he stared across Highway 23, at the Walmart Supercenter, the air in front of him shivered and shimmered. A pillar of dancing flame emerged before him and an authoritative voice shook his bones.
“Moses, go to Eygpt, free my people, be the bellwether that they should do my will and lead them to the Promised Land.”
“Ah, fuck me,” groaned Moses, “American Idol’s just comin’ on.”
The pillar shimmered, nearly flickered out then flared back to brilliance.
“Sorry,” said the voice, “wrong place, wrong time, wrong Moses.”