I saw Jesus the night before he died, the night before he hauled that damn cross up the hill. I ran into him outside that little bakery, the one across from the wine shop on the main street. He was sitting on the stoop, talking to a gaggle of children. He always did love the kids.
“Hey, Jesus. What’s happening?”
“Hello, William. I’m just hangin’ with my little buddies.”
“If you can tear yourself away, how about I buy you a cup of wine at that shop over there? We can sit and talk and catch up. I haven’t seen you since forever.”
He smiled that smile of his.
“I’d like nothing better, my friend.”
He stood, patted one or two of the kids on the head, and whispered into one little girl’s ear. She looked up at him and smiled a thousand-watt smile.
“What did you say to the…
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