We were leaning against my car in the parking lot of a Burger King, smoking cigarettes and waiting for the girls to finish their shifts, when the old man came out the side door.

He was hunchbacked, and hobbled along on a gnarled wooden cane. He wore a dusty flannel, dustier jeans, and cowboy boots that had seen better days. He had no front teeth.

Slowly, he limped his way up to me. He smiled, a huge, gummy grin.

“The sky opens up,” he said, clearly addressing me. “A hole appears in the universe, and you can ask one question.”

I glanced at my friends, who smiled, and nodded that I should answer him.

I pondered for a moment, trying to think of something clever, or insightful.

“Why do they say Diet Coke tastes like regular Coke?” I asked, in a very smart-assed and failed attempt at humor.

The old man smiled again, the way he might at his grand kids, if he had any.

“Aspartame,” he said, and hobbled on past me.

“Dude! What if that was God?” My friend shouted.

“I think God would have front teeth,” I said.