The girl sat in the Ramada lobby, glued to pictures of her home on the TV. Her mom tapped on a laptop, trying to set up a new life. The refugees from New Orleans are spreading north into Arkansas and Missouri, filling motels and relatives' rec rooms, sending teachers scrambling for extra school supplies and clothing for kids who have lost everything.
I'm sitting by the pool. I don't call this god's plan. I call this dumb luck.
I'm like, so into God. If you were more into Him, you'd get the interviews. God is in control. On yo' knees, Girlfriend.
ReplyDeleteThe thing that I want to say in response to this, I don't think I can say on a PG website.
ReplyDeleteLike, "Hear me, Oh Lord, When I Cry With My Voice?" Come on, Babe. If you would just accept Jesus, you'd loose your desire to smoke.
ReplyDeleteJesus is the name you call the pool boy and God is Dog spelled backwards. Father and son are a dog and latin
ReplyDeleteboy walking by you never take notice of.
Religion is like smoking.
A personal choice.
Addictive, too.
ReplyDelete