I walked into the office and there was Greg, sitting with hands folded, eyes closed, and mumbling something. “Greg,” I said, “what are you doing?” He looked up, surprised, and said, “I’m praying.” “Praying? What’s that?” “Surely, Bob, you know what praying is?” “No, I don’t. So tell me.” “It’s when you talk to God, tell him something or ask him for something.” “Were you telling or asking?” “I was asking.” “Where is he, and how do you know he heard you?” “He’s everywhere, and he always listens.” “How do you know he’s everywhere, and how do you know he listens?” “I just believe.” “In other words, you don’t know, not like you know that I’m right here before you, listening and talking to you. You say “him” and “he.” This god of yours is male?” “Yes.” “How do you know? Have you seen him naked?” “No, of course not.” “Why not? Would that be bad? Would his naked body be ugly as sin? What kind of a suit does he wear, or does he go around in his pajamas or a jogging outfit?” “I only see his face.” “So, he’s not all there? He’s just a floating head that could belong to a eunuch or to a woman?” “I think you’re making fun of me.” “Do you expect me to take you seriously, on the standard of your emotion, because you really, sincerely feel?”