Lynne's Church

She called my name in her Walthamstow accent.
"Mr Auton"
I moved from the green couch to the red seat opposite her.
Her name tag then told me her name for her. Lynne.
She continued to draw without looking at me.
She drew erratically with a blue biro. she pressed down with such force that you could have taken a rubbing from the table after.
Oh hello, sorry. She said.
No problem, is that a church? I asked.
Yes it is, I've still got to draw the path, it's going to go here you see?
Lynne held up the sheet of A4 and traced the path with her finger.
Two characters stood on the undrawn.
A man hovered wearing a scratchy top hat, a lady next to him in a triangular dress.
How is your Job search going? she asked.
OK thanks, here's my jobseekers record.
As she looked over my search.
I looked over her church.
The cross at the top of the spire had become a sword as she had drawn the vertical bit too low down.
It was a church without a graveyard.
A church without a ground.
A church without a sky.
She signed my book.
I left.
And she continued to draw.