PHOTO by Roger Bultot
“We’re going to be late for the funeral,” Susan nagged, pulling her coat tighter around her body.
His forebrain heard ‘blah,blah, blah, blah,’ but somewhere in the back of his mind, in the small primitive reptile brain, she was heard.
“I don’t know if that is how they do it,” it said because the primitive brain knew how to protect.
‘Who?”
“Do Jews have funerals?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
“Wouldn’t it be Allah’s sake?”
Rolling her eyes, she stormed away.
“What,” he asked, bewildered.
A Writer's Life 