“How did you know..?” the leader asked, a
middle aged woman in a fake fur jacket.
“From the way you jostled me, it was
either that or Romanian pickpockets – but they'd be better dressed” I
answered.
Anyway they launched into a diatribe about
our lord and his single minded determination to save me.
“Sorry, don’t do God, don’t need him,” I
said, “I’m a grown-up and so take full responsibilities for my actions,” (bit
of a wild claim, the grown up bit).
There was a moments silence and then one of
them came back, “Do you have a family bible?”
When I conceded there was one, they looked at each other in wild surmise – well, mild satisfaction anyway.
“There you are,” said their leader, the
lady in the coat. “You wouldn’t have one if it wasn’t useful” She ended on a
high note and they all nodded to each other as if some clever point had been made.
I had to agree. “My mother beat my father to death with it!” (if only!).
I remain unshaved and unsaved.
I remain unshaved and unsaved.
This meeting actually happened.
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