“I think I’m having a spiritual experience.”

It was not the first time Perry had said this. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last. They were sitting in the run-down diner on Main Street, the overhead light flickering on and off. Billy looked down at his spoon as he slurped up the tomato soup, and he could see the grease marks. The diner was quite literally a “greasy spoon.”

“And why are you so sure of it this time, Perry?” he asked.

Perry shifted nervously in his seat. His eyes were bloodshot and intense; it appeared he hadn’t slept in a few days. This wasn’t drug-induced, though. They were both going to plenty of AA meetings, and for once, Perry had stringed together some sober days.

Perry leaned forward, lowering his voice as if the jukebox might be listening.

“I can feel my thoughts changing channels,” he said. “Like God’s got the remote. Click—fear. Click—regret. Click—visions.”

Billy sighed. He had heard variations of this before. In college, it had been peyote. After the divorce, it was CrossFit. Last spring, it was microdosing mushrooms “for clarity.”

“Visions of what?” Billy asked.

“Of myself,” Perry said. “But better. Cleaner. With a purpose.”

“That sounds less like God and more like an infomercial.”

Perry ignored him. He stared at the condensation on his water glass as if it were forming letters. “I think I’m being prepared for something. A transformation.”

Billy stirred his soup, the spoon clinking against the chipped ceramic bowl. “Last time you said that, you quit your job and tried to sell handmade shofars on Etsy.”

“They didn’t appreciate the craftsmanship.”

“They were PVC pipes, Perry.”

Perry flinched. “That’s not the point.”

The light above them flickered harder now. A waitress in orthopedic shoes shuffled past and refilled coffee without asking. Billy noticed her nametag said Janice and that the J was written over an old B.

“So what triggered this one?” Billy asked. “A dream? A pamphlet? Did a stranger tell you you had an old soul again?”

Perry hesitated. “I was at home. Meditating. Or … trying to.” He rubbed his temples. “And I felt this pressure. Like something was being downloaded into me. Information. Instructions.”

Billy raised an eyebrow. “From where?”

Perry pointed upward. Then, after a moment, pointed vaguely inward. Then stopped pointing altogether.

“I blacked out,” Perry continued. “When I came to, my fridge was open, my phone was smashed, and I had written PREPARE all over my bathroom mirror in toothpaste.”

Billy nodded slowly. “That’s Crest or Colgate?”

“Colgate. Total Protection.”

“Well. At least you’re thorough.”

Perry grabbed Billy’s wrist suddenly, his grip desperate. “What if this is real, Billy? What if this is the thing that finally fixes me?”

Billy gently pulled his hand away. “Nothing that is written in toothpaste fixes anyone.”

Perry slumped back into the booth, deflated. For a moment, he looked small. Human. Then his eyes widened again.

“Oh. There’s more,” he said.

Billy closed his eyes. “Of course there is.”

“I got an email this morning. No sender. No subject line.”

“And?”

“It just said: BEGIN FASTING. DAY THREE WILL BE IMPORTANT.”

Billy opened his eyes. “Perry, that’s spam.”

Perry shook his head violently. “No. No, I can feel it. This is different.”

“Different how?”

Perry smiled. It was the kind of smile that had preceded every bad decision Billy had ever watched him make. “I haven’t eaten in two days.”

Billy pushed his soup away. “You’re in a diner.”

“I know. The temptation is part of it.”

The jukebox suddenly crackled to life on its own, blaring an old gospel song, tinny and distorted. Janice looked up from the counter and muttered, “Dammit,” but didn’t move to turn it off.

Perry’s eyes filled with tears. “You hear that?”

“I hear a machine from 1978 begging for mercy.”

“This is it,” Perry whispered. “The confirmation.”

Billy stood up, sliding out of the booth. “Okay. We’re done. I’m calling your sponsor.”

Perry didn’t protest. He just stared at the ceiling, nodding slowly.

As Billy paid at the counter, Janice leaned over and said quietly, “Your friend always like this?”

“Only when he’s improving,” Billy said.

When he turned back, Perry was gone. The booth was empty. On the table, next to the untouched water glass, someone had written a single word in ketchup:

READY.

Billy stared at it for a long moment.

Then he grabbed his coat, stepped outside into the gray afternoon, and dialed the number he knew by heart.

“Hey,” he said when the line picked up. “Yeah. It’s Perry again. No, not drugs. Worse. He thinks he’s evolving.”

He paused, watching a pigeon peck at a cigarette butt near the curb.

“Yeah,” Billy added. “Bring snacks. He’s fasting.”

The End