II.
I’m a simple man. Shower every day. Clean out the ears every other. I don’t think about God unless someone raises the subject. Even then, the word doesn’t register. I think, “God.” And then it’s gone.
And what’s all this fuss about death? “So-and-so died today. Can you believe it?” As if dying were as remarkable as being struck by lightning. Lightning must strike just as we each must die, but to be struck by lightning you must be at the right place at the right time. No such luck with death. You just have to be.
The Hungry Artist 