a reoccurring incident

Was hungry, so I decided to go taste the eats at a small church called God's Extended Hand. I recall the place years ago when I referred to it as God's Extended Finger. Got a laugh then. No one laughs now. Anyways, a crumbling mission located in the heart of skid row, the sidewalks leading up to the joint were glistening black from decades of soot and grime. Muck covered tents lined along the decaying walls and poured out into the garbage choked gutter.

I entered the small, foul smelling room. Dusty religious icons scowled at me from every dank nook. I took a seat in a rickety steel folding chair at a row of long, rotten wooden tables. The people around me sat sullied and quiet, waiting to be fed their shit. Eventually, after a brief and uninspiring sermon by the black pastor, we all lined up and were issued a tepid bowl of chicken/vegetable soup with stale bread. One old woman in her late seventies broke the somber monotony by emitting a tormented howl and then promptly vomiting onto the floor. Ignoring the chunky yellow substance and over powering stench of stomach acids, the other patrons simply continued to eat as if it was a reoccurring incident. Sad thing is, it probably was.