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Show 153 The musician had a goatee and an acoustic guitar, not usually an encouraging combination, but I thought I would give him a chance. He played a very slow song and it took him a while to get to the lyrics. When he finally did, he sang, slowly, She don't like roses. Son of a Christ, I thought. Then wondered if Son of a Christ was a phrase. Maybe I could pull it off: What's that, Jesus Jr. ? You 'd like another serving of bread and fish. Well, sure ...I mean your father was interested in was trying to be somewhat minimal...he was not necessarily into extra servings, but no, two servings is hardly gluttony, right? Of course, we used to have more fish available, thanks to your dad's multiplication abilities ...when you were young we were hoping maybe you would develop that skill some day, or at least go into the carpentry trade...but nevermind that, we can afford it OK...I'm sure there are plenty of opportunities for single mothers in Nazareth that I just haven't found yet. And being a poet and writer is important too-it provides a different kind of nourishment, for the soul. Your father had a bit of a poet in him. Of course, his parables were more garnered toward providing...practical information toward one's eternal salvation, but I'm sure your poems do important things too. Lilies in the field, right? But anyway, please, no, go ahead and have the fish. We '11 get by. My thoughts continued in this way until the singer raised his voice an octave and brought me back to the coffee shop. He was now closing his eyes in order to reach the emotional heights the song required. Steve was stirring his orange juice intensely, as though he knew some sort of Mormon voodoo that |