Some mornings, you wake up in South Florida, crack open the newspaper, and think: God is surely dead.
Or maybe he’s just different. In Italy, the nation’s most vulgar and oft-uttered exclamation, Porco Dio, literally translates to “porcine god.” Somehow it seems most true here in Miami.
So, maybe God’s not dead. Maybe he’s just some kind of swamp-dwelling half lawyer, half feral pig with a love of weird violence. That sounds about right.
Then you take a bike ride through Coral Gables and come across an elaborate nativity scene near the corner of Ponce De Leon and Alhambra.
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And then you remember that God is supposed to be a perfect Assyrian baby that was born without sex and got nailed to a cross 2,000 years ago and will be back, soon, to kill us all. And that’s why we give each other Christmas presents and Easter baskets. --Calvin Godfrey