On the second leg of the flight home I sat next to an actor from a well-known soap opera. What a hot conversation! He said that there was no Heaven and no Hell. Such thoughts were childish. He also thought he was a god. I gently asked him if he had ever thrown up over a toilet bowl, gasping for his very breath. He said he had. I said that the next time it happens he should say to himself, "I am a god." He then explained that he didn't think he was God Almighty; just a god. Oh. I see. Before we went through the Commandments, I felt to say, "Will you get angry if I ask you some questions?" He was taken back that I would ask such a thing. Of course he wouldn't.
I'm sure glad I asked that question, because it was as though I lit a fuse to a tall stick of dynamite. He justified himself through each Commandment and by the time I reached "Innocent or guilty?" he was about to explode. Explosions aren't good on planes, so I snuffed the fuse by saying, "Thanks for your thoughts." He said, "Is that it?" I said "Yep. That's it." His last words of that part of our conversation were, "I'm a righteous man." Sure. I left him with the Law and his conscience. He then said, "You're a good man." I gently told him I wasn't; that my heart was deceitfully wicked. He then said, "Well you are a nice man." I let him have that one. Suddenly, he closed his eyes, furrowed his brow, clasped his hands together and leaned forward as though he was praying. Sorry to disappoint you. He wasn't praying. 
He was memorizing his lines for the next day's squeaky-clean Soap Opera. So we had better pray on his behalf. His name is Clayton.
P.S. Later on in the flight he told me that he had something to show me. I thought I was going to be a gun. It was a tattoo of Jesus on the inside of his left bicep. I told him I didn't have room enough on mine for one.
