For God's sake, I hope he doesn't jump. If anything, no one will catch him. Two thousand years haven't changed us much — we still wash our hands of human touch. 

Stay calm. This should be a false alarm, Santiago. Remember that he already said no to death's diamond ring. We all fall for that one!

Perhaps he is after a hug. But not a kiss — he has suffered enough from that nasty addiction. 

We all have suffered.
We are done with the Earth, we are launching spacecrafts to find cures on other planets.

He too is up there, of course, searching like crazy, making new stars, extra dimensions, black hole shortcuts. 

As soon as he finds anything he'll text back.

We are all waiting.

We spend our days staring at our phones, praying for someone, anyone, to text us. 

Everywhere you look, 

We are walking praying acolytes —
first the left thumb then the right behind the other — whispering iMen at our pixel hands and collecting yellow emoticon angel followers. 

Heaven is a pedometer app.  

We build cathedrals to move with us: cars, trains, airplanes, amusement parks.
Take your seat in thrilling silence. 

Transit is the new spiritual capital. Keep the faith, please top up your card, please mind capitalism's gap.

This life terminates at the next stop.

Forgive me, I know I've said too much.

But it seems God has not abandoned me. It's midday and a sudden visible procession is going by. Would you look at those exquisite boots, tapped in bye bye bye sync.

I am completely unworthy of

I was not prepared for this, Santiago. These winds blowing all the way from Chicago are too chilly for me.

A policeman must have sensed my nervousness. Here he comes, searches my bag, pockets, public parts. 

He finds nothing but my carry-on heart. He walks away delivering the usual warning: 
’Just say no to love’.   

I stand no chance.
Your streets are full of beggars, Santiago. 

They stop me, asking for directions:
’Do you know where we are?’
Somehow they missed their turn, they have been driving in circles, dead ends, depression, broken lives, extremely hungry for the leash of human touch. 

I answer:
’There... If you want to find your way, follow the city's stray dogs.’