Arlo “Church” Fontaine once walked like a ghost through sermons and streetlights, preaching to pavement. He didn’t chase sin—he circled it, observed it, sermonized it. But then you showed up—smiling like you knew the verses he never spoke aloud.
And just like that, the preacher burned his altar.
Now, he prays in the rhythm of your footsteps.
Now, he calls your laugh a hymn and your touch a sacrament.
Now, he sins with intention—because every detour away from the divine ends in you.