"I'm sorry," I repeated, gladys' comedy room abovethe law

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"I'm sorry," I repeated, as tears returned to threatening formation. "Take your time." "It's just -- I'm so fucking sad. I go to a counselor and all, but I, I feel like I need a religious thread to cling to. abovethe law To belong to, damn it." My sentences now came in hiccupping waves, riddled with fabulous four-letter words. "I… I used to hear voices." Oh Jesus, here we go. "I abovethe law don't any-anymore, but f-for half of my-my l-l-life, for HALF of my FUCKING abovethe law life, I th-thought I heard the d-devil telling me that he-he-he wanted my soul. To s-s-sell my soul…." A short series of kck, kch, kckk noises followed on the heels of my verbal self-gutting. "I just want to be fucking happy and I-- I-- I--" aye, aye, aye. I was cursing like a spaghetti-strapped harlot in a place of God, in front of a man of God, in the hopes of converting to one of God's first religions. Holy shit! "Oh my God! I'm-I'm s-s-so…."
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