It was just past eight in the morning when they got to the Presbyterian church. It was the sixth church they’d been to that morning, driving around and relying on Spencer’s memory of churches he’d seen around town during his nighttime wanderings.
Sal shook his head, disappointed. “I told you, it has to be Catholic.”
“I grew up Methodist.” Spencer turned out of the parking lot. “I always thought a church was a church.”
Sal shook his head again. “Fucking Methodists.”
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I am a Gen X lawyer, powerlifter, music afficionado, veteran record collector, beginner guitar player, husband, and father (not in that order). I started writing short fiction in 1999, then took an extended break from 2002 until 2021, in which time I wasted my twenties partying in Chicago; got my JD from a Big Ten law school (summa cum laud for anyone keeping score); began my career with the prestigious, workaholic, and very evil law firm Wolfram & Hart*; got married and had two children; and nursed an ever increasing alcohol habit.
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