God

“Can Harry make it Sunday?” Billy asked.

Bernie frowned. “Nah. Says he’s got some church thing he’s going to.”

“Ah,” said Billy. “Harry’s really into his church, isn’t he?”

Bernie shifted in his bus seat, his vinyl jacket swishing against the green plastic. “Apparently.”

“Sounds like you don’t approve.”

“Nah, it’s not that. Just — I don’t see the point, or rather, I don’t see what he sees when I look at a church.”

“OK. What do you see?”

Bernie straightened against the stiff back of the seat. “I see — a whole lot of pretentiousness. People putting on their nicest clothes, acting real nice to each other, just to make sure everyone sees how respectable they are. It’s all a show.”

“So you don’t think they’re there because they want to be there?”

“Oh, they want to be there. But not because of God, or religion or anything like that. It’s all just a show.”

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