poetic justice
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He was the confessional without the collar. No stained glass. No wooden booth. No priest waiting patiently on the other side of a little brass screen. Just a telephone that was almost always on speaker and a man who could never keep his sins inside his own mouth. Behind closed doors, they poured out. The…
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Some people get angry when my name is spoken. Others get quiet. Others laugh because they finally understand the joke. And then there is me. Sitting somewhere in the middle of the chaos laughing when certain names are spoken because life has a dark sense of humor once you survive enough of it. That is…
