On Wednesday, there weren't many people praying in the church, nor were there many confessing; after all, what is there to confess in rural life?
The town is also the countryside, and people are busy with life, except for Sundays. Most of the time, people don't come to the church unless they encounter trouble.
The priest sat at the edge of a row in the middle near the aisle, a beam of sunlight shining on him through the window.
Dust danced around him, like tiny elves, adding a touch of holiness to him.
He sat there, eyes fixed on the crucifix, but his mind was occupied with other thoughts.
How much of the liquor proceeds he could pocket, whether the new supervisor and Special Agent would be easy to handle?
Being a priest really wears one down!
Not only does he have to manage this church well, but also conduct Sunday services and listen to some idiots' confessions!
