Sainthood in Hell's Kitchen

I write my own prayers. I say them aloud in a soft low voice each night. I believe I am heard. I go it alone. There’s no catholic doctrine here nor any compunction over my lean to do things my own way. I’m not a joiner. Gravity pulls a stream of vodka into my gut, rinsing the fast-fading sting on my tongue. It is a global tongue, vaporizing the map of i…