A Marked Man

IF only I had kept my mouth shut. If only I hadn't told the local Jehovah's Witnesses that I have a degree in Theology. Each time I pass their newspaper stand in the local high street I can feel their eyes burning into me, almost as though they are salivating at the prospect of capturing my wayward soul for Jesus.

Dribbling, they were, like rabid dogs. Either that, or they're already sharpening the knives for next year's Passover and have me in mind for the main course.