So how do we look at the people who didn’t follow him? The everyday folks: scribes, healers, stewards, craftsmen, breadmakers—people doing their best to survive, focused on their own lives. People who didn’t have time for some strange man on the corner with a message.

But the sandwich came disassembled. A cellophane-wrapped slice of bread—thick, square, the shape and consistency of Texas Toast—and a plastic cup with a scoop of chicken salad. Nothing more. No lettuce, not even a napkin.

There are dreams that slip away like mist… and others that embed themselves, whispering fragments long after you’ve opened your eyes.

Cut to 2 a.m., when my brain clocked in for the night shift. Instead of sleeping, I started storyboarding: what if this is the opening scene of a Sci-Fi movie?