You can’t have expectations for a 2 a.m. pick-upand so it should’ve seemed entirely natural,greased Dali moustache, red-leather interior,the neutral Honda,low to the curb like an anesthetized drunk in their 20son a winter night. We climbed in the backseat,the driver’s ensuing monologue making ustravelling disciples. Secular wine-drunk,looking for a good story or something to believe in. Our fault for asking, “How are you?”The bait, his response; “Not good.”We didn’t even need to provoke, the answers came as freelyas the air’s …