Being a reporter or editor doesn’t make a person an expert on much of anything, with the possible exception of figuring out how to get a story. When the boss asks me to get a story, by golly, I get the story. So the boss has asked me to produce something on miracles.
On the way home from the office, Brownfield stopped at Publix to pick up some fruit for the kitchen table. He liked having fresh yellow bananas and a few red and green apples in the big bowl he brought back from Sicily as he sipped iced grapefruit juice and read the New York Times. Also, it would be nice to have a cold beer during the baseball game that would be on television that night, so he considered picking up a six-pack of Heineken. But then Eleanor would raise hell about how he drinks too much, which was true, but did she have to be such a bitch about it? He decided it wasn’t worth the fight so he let it go. No beer tonight.
The phone rang and he got it on the fourth ring.
“Yes?” He said.
“Manny?”