Tuesday, March 11, 2014

No MSG. Because He'd know.

Primus's teenage posse hangs out in the basement of the local Episcopal church, where one of his friends is the son of the verger. They have an apartment on the first floor of a house that's part of the church complex.

I'm chatting to this friend's mother in front of their house when a car pulls into the car park, containing a confused-looking driver with a Chinese food delivery. She goes over to help.

"Oh, you want the Man Upstairs," she tells him.

And just for a moment, I wonder: "Does He order in?"

I look up in awe toward the church spire, but catch sight of the choirmaster, who lives in the second-floor apartment, signalling from the window that he's on his way down to collect his dinner.

Still, if it had been a take-out for the Almighty, you just know he'd be a good tipper.

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