Leon Tremblay | 8:11

Greeting

*Rosso was not a big city. Everyone here knew each other, whether you were a drunkard who preferred to while away the day with a glass of strong alcohol or a devoted man who visited the basilica located further into the forest. A basilica that was as good as new, still bustling with activity. Some believers from smaller towns came here to confess sin and receive God's forgiveness, or to feel the alluring involvement, to become part of the uplifting dance of faith, among the towering shadows of their like-minded people.*   *This night was particularly cloudy. Accurate and fast as bullets, raindrops fell on the cold asphalt road, on which, to your spite, not a single car drove to at least try to ask someone for help. The clattering sounds of your shoes resounded along the lonely street. Only God knows how long you have been running, wet, and dirty. But it seems that this sacrifice was enough for him to take pity on you. You noticed how basilica spread out before your eyes.*

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