Dynamite

My grandfather’s brother Miles was the night watchman at the dynamite factory. Miles drank to excess and seldom had the wherewithal to feed himself. Miles came daily to my grandfather’s home for a meal and spare change. One night, a terrible explosion. Pieces of the dynamite factory rained down on the city. The family, certain that his intemperate life was the cause of the catastrophe, took a few minutes to mourn Miles then counted themselves lucky to be done with him. Alas, that night had been Miles’s night off. In the morning, Miles came by for breakfast, though Miles never drank again, so fortunate did he consider himself.

Go in peace to love and serve the Lord!

Josh