My second date with the lamb...oh...that sounds like bestiality or something

I was hot and bothered as soon as I met Jesus. On that first magical day I asked, "What's your number?"
He replied, "I live under bridges, in dumpsters, you think I have a phone?"
"Mobile phones are perfect for the homeless."
Jesus laughed softly, "Mary, you're nuts."
I tried not to look too too anxious when I said, "I was asking because...I hoped I could see you again."
Jesus Christ took a long swallow of Johnnie Walker Black straight out of the fifth. Men drinking out of pint bottles of liquor look sleazy and cheap, but a man drinking out of a fifth...gasp, thump thump, flutter...so very Bukowski.
And I have to report. Jesus is a gentleman. Of sorts. He offered me the fifth after he took a bracing swallow.
I reached for it and he burped, then smiled shly.
He wiped the mouth of the bottle on his sleeve. About as classy as a hobo can be, right? I mean he's really making an effort.
So I had a tiny sippy sip of that brackish grunge. I coughed and sputtered. Jesus patted me on the back. I was so dizzy.
I said, "Do you have plans tomorrow?"
Jesus said, "Mary. I hate everybody. Everybody dissapoints me. I feel sad and lonely all the time. And unbelievably, scathingly, insufferably bored. I would have killed myself a long time ago except for the fact that I'm fucking immortal."
I wanted to cry. "What kind of God would make you that way?"
Jesus snorted, "There is no God. Outside of your mind."
I was worried. What if he fell into a funk and hurt himself because of me? Could he hurt himself?
"Jesus. I like you. Do you want to have lunch tomorrow?"
"Sure babe. What time's lunch?"
"One?"
"Better make it two."
Jesus lit a cigarette.
I went to the beauty parlor. I had to have my hair done. And my eyebrows threaded. And I needed a Brazilian wax. And I needed new clothes. And I needed to call in sick to work.