dusted

Jacob Baker gripped his Bible and knocked three times on the flat red door.
Inside, McGreavy Bumpus was staring at a patchouli scented candle. Scantily clad women were dancing about inside the flame. Colorful posters on his walls were beginning to drip. When McGreavy heard the raps on the door he stood slowly, certain that the sounds were beats on some metaphysical drum, a form of communication, the mystic he was expecting playing a symbolic tabla. He crossed the scented room, reached for the knob and with great ceremony, pulled open the door.
"Good morning," Jacob Baker said cheerfully, "Have you heard the good news about Jesus?"
McGreavy looked at him through widened pupils.
"I'll be damned," Mcgreavy said.
"I hope not," Jacob replied, laughing at his own cleverness.
"Come on in," said McGreavy, squinting. He was blinded by the whiteness of Jacob's starched shirt. The two sat on the sagging couch, and McGreavy offered Jacob tea from a pot that contained two dissolved tabs of acid.
"This is lovely tea," said Jacob. "Is it mint?"