*Or, How I Learned to Stop Praying and Love the Scroll*
*Chapter 1: The Umbrella and the Altar**
In a village where the sun bleaches stories into dust, old women sit beneath tattered umbrellas, their hands cradling two relics: one to ward off rain, the other to summon rainbows. The cellphone, cracked and humming, hangs from their necks like a priest’s stole. *“Rent-a-soul,”* they croak, grinning. For a coin, you can call a cousin in Lagos or a son in London. Here, connectivity is communion. The phone is not a tool; it’s a covenant.
But let me tell you, friend — this is not a village story. This is *every* story.
Chapter 2: Gods of the Palm**
Once, gods lived in trees and storms. Now, they nest in our palms, glowing like captive fireflies. We feed them lightning (through chargers), kneel before their flickering faces (on subways, toilets, funerals), and whisper confessions into their glass ears (*“I’m 2 minutes away!”*). They answer in vibrations — a liturgy of buzzes.
Remember that episode of *American Gods* where the dude with the TV head preaches binary gospels? Yeah. We’re there. The “god of technology” isn’t coming — *he’s updating*.
*Chapter 3: The Dog Walketh, the Human Stumbleth**
