Chase nodded, looking out the window at the rolling hills fading into the purple twilight. "I get it. It’s easier to hear Him out here. Sometimes it’s in the preacher's words, sure, but most times? It’s in the way the wind hits the cornfields or just sitting right here, catching up with an old friend."
"So," Miller started, tracing a ring of condensation on the table. "You still doing the Sunday morning thing?" Drinkin Beer. Talkin God. Amen. (feat. Florida Georgia Line)
He raised his bottle slightly. "You don't need a cathedral to have a conversation, Miller. Sometimes a cold one and a wooden table is all the altar you need." Chase nodded, looking out the window at the
Miller laughed, a genuine sound that broke through his polished city exterior. "Some things never change. Honestly, man, out there... I don't know. It’s all concrete and noise. I miss the quiet. I miss knowing where I stand with the Big Guy." Sometimes it’s in the preacher's words, sure, but