This guy came walking down my street pulling a wheelbarrow full of apples. On the side was a sign that said, "Apples $2/dz."

I was like, "Dude, don’t try to tell me you actually make a living selling apples on the street."

He said, "Of course not. This is just how I get my exercise."

"So you don’t have a farm or an orchard or anything?" I asked.

"No. I own Lionel’s Juice," he said.

I was like, "Get out of town!" because Lionel’s Juice is one of the biggest juice companies there is. My mom used to put it in my bottle when I was a baby.

"It’s true," he said. And he handed me a business card with golden writing: Reginald Lionel, Owner, Lionel’s Juice Incorporated.

"So you’re like a billionaire or something," I said.

And he said, "Well, not a billionaire, no. But I do have some money."

"Do you live around here?" I asked.

"I live many places," he said, kind of mysteriously.

"Like where else?" I asked.

I expected him to say Greece, Paris, New York, places like that, but instead he said, "I live everywhere."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that." And he had this kind of gleam in his eye and all of a sudden I realized.

"You mean you’re..."

"You got it."

"Whoa. That’s heavy," I said. I mean, I know what to do on Sunday mornings, but what on Earth do you say to God when he’s pulling a wheelbarrow of apples down your street?

"Well, I’ve got to be going now. The misses will get worried if I’m out too long," he said. "You’re married?" I asked.

"Yup," he said. "For as long as I can remember." I didn’t want to pester him anymore or seem too nosy so I didn’t say anything else, but man if I didn’t wonder who his wife could possibly be.

"See you around," he said. I waved good-bye and watched him walk down the street. Soon he turned a corner and was out of sight, but I didn’t move until he had gotten far enough that I couldn’t hear him calling, "Apples. I got fresh apples here."

At first I didn’t want to tell anyone about what had happened. It felt private, you know, like something that was just between me and Him, a real religious experience. But I was talking to my sister in the kitchen that night and couldn’t hold it in. Without even meaning to, I just kind of blurted it out and she started laughing at me and said, "That wasn’t God, you idiot. It’s just that crazy old geezer who lives with his niece down on Walker Street."

Man, did I feel stupid then.