The Slotted Spoon

This morning at around 11, I left Englewood Hospital after visiting someone. As I walked back to my car parked in front of Brookside Cemetery on Engle Street, as I walked just beyond the ambulance bays for the emergency room, a man came up to me.

He was wearing a Batman tee-shirt and smoking a joint.

“What are you going to think when after you die, there is nothing but blackness?”

Mezmerized a bit by the tee-shirt and the ridiculous tattoo of a slotted spoon on his left arm and that he was smoking mariguana outside of a hospital (granted, it could be a “medically” approved joint), I asked him to repeat his question.

I answered: “I’ll probably be thinking that a guy wearing a Batman tee-shirt with a tattoo of a spoon on his arm was right. But since I’m going to be standing at the pearly gates looking at Jesus, wouldn’t you like to know how to get into heaven?”

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