Follows Holey Advice.
It’s echoes of me from the time before Genet that resurface. Faced with people I genuinely dislike and stuck in an irresponsible mood, I become the terror I once used to be.
“Father, who art in Heaven,” the priest mutters, vainly trying to pull further away from me.
I’m not enjoying this body-guarding shtick. The confessional's cramped.
The only consolation is that my principal's freaking out completely: sweaty palms, taut nerves, shaking voice. Reducing a man of God to a man is strangely satisfying. And easy. You just have to stand… really… really… close.
No wonder I got myself disinherited.
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