Jesus is coming to eat all our bagels.
What kind of car does he drive? my daughter asks.
A gold Cadillac I say — retrofitted — it runs on french fry oil.
That’s silly, she says.
I say no, it’s logical. He’s done with the modesty thing, he wants to make a statement – it didn’t work so well the last time you may remember.
And there’s just something memorable about an oversized auto painted the citron color of treasure.
You mean the canary-yellow of gilded independence?
Something like that, I say.
Now quick — pass the cream cheese.