The diner was a step down from Waffle House, a dreary place where automatons will sell you a $0.30 cup of coffee. Not the kind of place where you expect to meet the messiah.

“Last night I had a dream.” Frank explained. “I’m still trying to unpack it. I was in a tattoo shop getting ink. It was the most vibrant image I’ve ever seen: Jesus Christ with this giant cross around his neck.”

“And?” Lance responded.

“I think it means… " Frank paused. “I’m Jesus.”

“Preposterous. You’re not Jesus. You don’t just wake up one morning and all of the sudden you’re God.”

“Think about it, man! Jesus probably just thought he was Joe Schmoe until he had a vision and realized he was going to save the world.”

“YOU are not the Savior of the world. You work in a call center for God’s sake. You’re acting like a freaking lunatic.”

“That’s what they used to say about Jesus.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lance exhaled.

“Oh, my Me. You’re starting to believe,” Frank said. “By the way, please don’t use my name in vain. It’s very rude.”