HOTPOT
Outside the crummy restaurant the two men were
speaking in tongues : Of Jesus and Hell, of damnation
and eternal suffering. I stayed and listened just enough
to lose interest. What a paltry God this must be! For
mistakes in years of seventy, the damnation eternal too
must be? Ever and ever anon? Now listen, that's a bit
much, even for a hanging judge. Let me die, instead,
at the stake. At least it's over in a short instant.
-
I watched them talk on - the one fellow in a gray
overcoat, fine and fabric'd like a thousand dollars
would do; and the other, slightly hunched, wearing
some foolish-looking sports-styled fabric thing. I
don't know why they carried on so, but behind
them, like a bland yet curious Hopper painting,
I saw heads and and shoulders bobbing - as
people talked and ate, oblivious to a fault.
-
There is no grief to peddle that's worse than the
grief we're given : all those curious words tumbling
down. The noise of a choir in full preachment form -
in a long, dull corridor, perhaps, with no
one listening to anything at all.
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