Getting Clean copyright@2020 will maguire I go to church. I generally sit in the last pew, trying to turn my grievances into gratitude. I fail regularly. Last week this guy walked in wearing mechanic’s overalls covered with oil stains. His hands were blackened with grease. There is this large bowl at the entranceway full of water. Holy water. I think it must have been his first time because he hesitated as he passed it. He took a few steps, then turned back. He dipped both arms in up to the elbow and began scrubbing at the dirt and grease, like he figured washing his hands was a kind of prayer. Then cleansed, he rolled his sleeves down, found the girl he was going to meet and sat down. And I got that old feeling in the back of me that I was watching something larger than it appeared to be. In the early 80s I lived in New York City. That year a new and deadly virus, HIV, first made its way into Manhattan’s clubs and alleyways. Then in short order it climbed off the avenue...
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