Jesus Gonna Be Here ✔ ❲Working❳

The gravel crunched under the tires of the old Ford as Silas pulled onto the shoulder of Highway 61. He didn’t stop because of a breakdown; he stopped because the sky looked like a bruised plum, and the air felt heavy with a secret.

He leaned against the warm metal of the hood and lit a cigarette. "Any time now," he whispered to the crickets. Jesus Gonna Be Here

Silas stepped out into the humid evening. He wasn’t a particularly religious man in the way the folks in town were—no Sunday best, no front-row pew. But he had a standing appointment. Every Tuesday at dusk, he’d wait by the mile marker where the sunflowers grew tallest. The gravel crunched under the tires of the