Young friend visited my sleeve, as Eleanor napped in the garden.
‘There’s no greys, only white that’s got grubby. I’m surprised you don’t know that. And sin, young man, is when you treat people as things. Including yourself. That’s what sin is.’
‘It’s a lot more complicated than that -’
‘No. It ain’t. When people say things are a lot more complicated than that, they means they’re getting worried that they won’t like the truth. People as things, that’s where it starts.’
‘But you read a lot of books, I’m thinking. Hard to have faith, ain’t it, when you’ve read too many books?’
‘Many people find faith a great solace,’ he said. He wished he was one of them.
‘Good.’
‘Really? Somehow I thought you’d argue.’
‘It’s not my place to tell ‘em what to believe, if they act decent.’
‘But it’s not something that you feel drawn to, perhaps, in the darker hours?’
‘No. I’ve already got a hot water bottle.’
