A Prayer from Dorchester, Massachusetts

Dear Lord in Heaven,

You win.

I now understand the blueprint that is Hell. Hell does not feature fire. Nor does it have endless flames or anything we’ve come to think of it. No, Hell is four feet of snow piled on a congested neighborhood filed with generations of townies. Hell gives you three days of “hope” and then piles another foot of snow on top. Lucifer doesn’t hold a pitchfork; instead, he hands you a used plastic shovel that was purchased by the landlord from True Value Hardware on Mass Ave in 1993, and says, “dig.”

So when this Hell finally thaws over and the sun reappears, I will not complain. The words “it’s too hot out” will not be spoken from my lips. I will look at sunburns not as skin damage, but rather the warm embrace of Mother Nature on another glorious day.

Until that day comes, I wield this cracked slab of plastic on a stick and do as Satan orders all others in Hell to do: dig.