After feeding the animals, I took a stroll around the motel. Not surprisingly, I ran into Willy. All dressed up in his Sunday best, he looked as though St. Peter had just handed him the keys to Heaven’s gate. When he saw me, he was glowing with a broad smile that made his puffy cheeks look even rosier than usual. “It’s time for the Gospel, junge Dagfred,” he declared, struggling to climb into the truck. “It’s time for the Lord to speak and for us to listen and pray. That’s what separates us from the livestock. Remember, my boy, we’re just marking time down here preparing for the next life. The ones not preparing their souls now, have no place in Heaven later.”
He turned on the ignition and waited for the engine to warm up. Armed with the satisfaction he was a spiritual man, several notche
