Two men met me at Central Station. One stood almost a foot taller than the other. I couldn't determine their ages.
My journey in from the coast had been uneventful - isn't that what they say? - and I'd hoped to spend a few hours wandering round the city centre browsing second-hand bookshops, seeing if any of my street friends might be about.
I wasn't at all aware of ever having met either of these two men now in front of me. Their appearance was entirely unexpected.
"Why did you come to Glasgow, Ross?" the taller one asked as his companion turned to observe a crowd of arrivals over on the next platform.
"Boredom," I offered. "I just needed to get away from my small town, to get some city-centre buzz." I had no idea why I was even talking to these guys. And yet, why did it at the same time seem so natural?
"You almost caught us off-guard," said the taller one. "We didn't expect you here on this day."
"Do I know you?" I said. Naturally, I wondered why they were so interested in me.
"We've been assigned to look after you, to make sure you get home safely," said the shorter man, reading my mind. "You really arenown't supposed to be here today."
The other nodded, adding, "Yes, and we'd be in big trouble with upstairs had we missed you and let you through."
"Upstairs?" I said. Were these guys from some covert intelligence agency?
"All will become clear soon Ross, please do not worry," soothed the tall one.
"Now is not quite your time," added his companion in an equally reassuring tone.
"What do you mean?" I asked, still baffled. "Who are you guys really?"
"You must return home immediately," they said, perfectly synced.
"But I just got here," I murmured, sensing it would be pointless to resist. I was also beginning to realize that something big might be about to go down somewhere in the city.
"Please Ross," they chorused.
I complied. Both men now guided me back to the train I'd only just got off, readying for its return leg.
I tried to console myself with the thought that I wouldn't have to negotiate my way past the crazy stalls that appeared on Saturdays spread across the pedestrian precinct: the cardboard Communists who would crap themselves if they really were living in Soviet Russia; the perpetually wronged feminists avowedly willing to commit murder; the awful Pride brigade about whom I'll say no more; the wicked Talmudists about whom I'll also say no more; the equally wicked Islamists about whom ... et cetera, et cetera; not forgetting the self-styled Christian heretics - about whom I could say heaps, but won't here. That stretch of street was, as you will have sensed, for me emblematic of how messed up the city, this life, had become in a spiritual sense.
Once I was back on the train I took a back-facing window seat. Out on the platform I saw the two men give me almost imperceptible nods, as if gifting their gratitude and farewells.
Ten or so minutes later, now far from the station and speeding beyond the city boundary, I saw the first streaks of fire pour down from heaven.
I prayed I wouldn't turn into a pillar of salt.
Luke 17:29 - KJV