Laughing Prophet, Broken Wheel

The other day, when I was walking from the parking lot to where I work, there was a twenty-something man walking away from campus loudly reading some Old Testament scripture about smiting in God's name (I've tried to find the scripture he was reading, and it might have been Jeremiah 29:21, but it could have also been Isaiah 11:15 or Ezekiel 30:21 or some other grumpy prophet).  He was about five eight, with medium-long, think, dish-water blonde hair like a proto-dreadlock halo around his bearded face.  He wore army pants, a camouflage T-shirt, and carried a heavily-packed backpack on his back.  A smallish, triangular green tattoo was above his right triceps.

His voice was strong, and echoed for a half-block off of the office and apartment buildings on the street, and down the empty streets and over the parking lot.  "...and go into Egypt, and in my name  scatter the armies of Pharaoh.  And--" here is voice rose into a hoarse pitch "--the Lord God said,"  he voice returned to a sea-shanty voice, "and go and raise your arm and smite the King of Babylon, and do this... "his voice returned to its maniacal pitch "...in the --hee-hee-- name -hee-eee-eee-ee of Jee-hova, your God..."

It was like God--or something--had driven him mad.  If he was acting, he was good at it; as he walked by he projected that super-focused "I must intone Bible verses" vibe, and the hee-eee-eee seemed like a real stutter of Jehova.  I felt sad for him, because it seemed like his religion had broken him, like a cart after it's carried too heavy a load, and now he was meandering through the streets with a squealing axle.

He walked away from campus, and his voice was lost.