The ritual neared completion.
All that it needed now was for the sun to position itself in a specific spot in the sky.
Only once a year could it shine light through the door and down a narrow, tiny hallway onto the statue.
The priests chanted and danced, and lit incence in preparation of the moment.
They felt it coming; the atmosphere of the inner chamber drummed it into their very being.
The time, at last, came.
They raised their arms, arched their backs, and sang its sacred syllable.
But no light fell on the statue.
Their trance ruined, the priests turned to look down the hallway to see a crackhead barging in yelling YA GOT ANY CHANGE