by Ben Westlie Nick Fewings The church chimes. The bells singing out a language older than I’ll ever be. I’m sitting in the pew, singing hymns, getting closer to immortality. After my father died when I was a teenager I started having sex with men. I was allowed to. We were nineteen and a shower of meteors was bombarding Earth’s atmosphere. All the streaks like tinsel tying the world in a cosmic knot. Lacing the stars. What a majestic trap. You told me to never worry—worry is