(c) 2010 by Tom King
He looked up the hill and saw some pretty nice houses on the slope above the tent city.
"Who lives up there?" he asked his angel guide.
"Well, that lower section with all the condos is the section for tax attorneys," his guide explained. "Above that are defense attorneys in the split-level ranch homes, auto mechanics in the brownstones and politicians in the McMansions."
Bewildered the pastor asked, "Why the fancier places for those guys? I mean, after all, I was a preacher all my life. I worked hard to get here."
"Well, we go by how hard it was for you to get here," the angel explained. "Preachers are a dime a dozen here and we've got three rows of bishops just the next street over and don't start me on the tent evangelists. It's hard to find a place for all you guys!"
The pastor looked further up the hill and pointed to a glittering mansion at the top of the hill. "Who's up there?" he asked.
"That's Earl Scruggs," his guide smiled.
"What did he do to deserve a house like that?" the preacher gasped. "I mean, I like his music and all and he inspired millions to take up the banjo, but how does that earn him any special merit here?"
"That's just it, the angel explained with tears in his eyes. "That man did so much to relieve the overcrowding in this place...."
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