Wednesday, June 23, 2010

A Confession

I was a good Catholic boy until a cranky old priest broadcast my teenage sins from the confessional. His voice thundered throughout the dimly lit church where old Polish ladies knelt to pray for the last drippings from holiday gravy bowls and Papa's lingerings down at the tavern.

I didn't get gravy, didn't get beer! But I learned how to turn invisible as I walked out of the church.

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