The problem with lint
Two feet of humid air separated us in the six-man shower. I really didn’t know him well, but the look in his eyes indicated he thought he knew me. One thing was for sure, though; I wasn’t interested in striking up a conversation with a stranger, especially while in my birthday suit.
“Pastor,” he said. I ignored him for two reasons. First, I greatly dislike being called “Pastor.” Second, I hoped he was talking to someone else.
“Pastor Adrian,” and now I knew the naked man was talking to me.
“Sup?” I didn’t want to answer, but I did.
“I got Jesus into my life about a year ago,” the dripping-wet...
