Takei

Today on the 14th of April of 2015, is an appointment at the doctor's. In the late morning, on my way, I stop at the Roman Catholic worship centre, a mid-20th-century brown building. A bell rings as it is the end of recess for the noisy children at the adjacent school. It is practically empty in the spacious interior of the worship centre, except for a middle-aged, dark-haired Caucasian woman by the candles and an Oriental who looks like George Takei and who passes me by as he heads out. I sit at the pew, centre right. The banners above are in faded pastels, blue, pink, yellow, and green, with three butterflies printed on them each. A month ago, the banners were all purple. The statue of floating JC, front centre, is adorned in white and yellow cloth. The standing cross to the right is covered with green paper bits. I stand up and walk to the lobby area. Therein, I marvel at the Mexican Santa María painting and whisper the Spanish words on the caption. I gaze at the elegant photographs of Pope Francis and some other high-level religious authority figure. As I exit the building, a Filipino woman approaches the statue of white and blue Virgin Mary at the outside corner.