Chris placed the framed print on the nail. The solitude of his small Tudor style home seemed complete with the hand of God on his wall.
The American blues coming out of his iPod helped center him as it played through his English cottage. He stood back and looked over his handiwork.
“A little to the right, I think,” offered the man standing behind him.
“Oh, I didn"t see you there. It looks more to the left to me.”
“That"s what I mean. It"s hanging low on the left. It needs to go down on the right. Hmm. I"ve always liked Michelangelo"s "Creation." No one else draws God"s finger properly.”
Chris adjusted the picture, Adam and God"s fingers touching in a more level way. Chris turned to the stranger and crossed his arms. “By the way, who are you? Why are you in my house?”
“Oh, I"m sorry,”
