This morning on the way to work, an old Israeli guy in an undershirt and suspenders was standing outside, watching the building super load heavy crates off a truck. The super was Jamaican, with a build that fell somewhere between the Incredible Hulk and Fat Albert — although he was doing some pretty heavy lifting, so let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. I was motoring by, lost in this book that I’ve talked about way beyond acceptable boundaries.
“Hey, Michael,” calls the Israeli guy. “When the Messiah is going to come?”
Without missing a beat, the super gestures at me and says, “When his wife get home!”
I spin around and throw both my arms to the heavens. “Hey, how did you know?” I shout back at them. “She got home last week!”
They both chuckle, and the super nods knowingly. “You see?”