I arrived at the cathedral at around quarter to ten.
“There’s a man sleeping in the next to last pew,” the operator of the gift shop told me. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he added, “that’s what we’re here for. But he has his pants down.”
I stepped into the nave to have a look. A man with wild hair was lying on his back, his pants loose at his thighs.
“At least he’s wearing underpants,” I said.
A man I had never seen before entered with what looked like his son.
"Are you visiting?” I asked, handing them each a bulletin.
“Yes,” the older man said. “From France.”
He was a pilot for Air France, staying at the Marriott next door. His son played American football in Toulouse.
“That’s rugby country,” I said in French.
“Yes,” the pilot said. “But he likes American football. We’re going to the Dolphins game this afternoon.
They need all the prayers they can get, I thought.
