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103 The University of All Smiles The sleek and Anglo-Saxon Christ on all the calendars looks vaguely like an ad for beards. WGOD is loud with Armageddon, cattle prices and the songs of Brother Benjamin. Splayed on my guestroom desk, a Bible, bound in lavender leather, crinkles with onionskin psalms. In the face of so much virtue, what can I do but watch my step? Everyone says hello, even the joggers. Everyone smiles, even the frowners. Everyone shows what it’s like to be saved, even the jokers . . . Gardens without a snake bring out the Holmes in me. I sniff for a little conspicuous vice, but here it’s hidden like pornography in Mecca. Call me obtuse, but I’m on guard when good and bad don’t co-exist as I distrust elections where there’s no dissent. I’m more at peace with Dante’s sinner-saints than all the kindergartens of Angelico. 104 So, Brother Benjamin, sing on. The world may end at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, and all who smoke cigars may be the devil’s spawn. My world begins and ends each time I breathe. I smoke cigars. I sing a different song. ...

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