"Forgive me father for I have not blogged since October", I mumble.
"Sorry to hear that my son", he says in a low gravelly voice. He continues, "But I'm afraid there is nothing I can do about it".
"I came here for the Lord's forgiveness and absolution." My voice trembles a little, though that could be the cold.
"I said there was nothing I could do about it. This is a greengrocer. The church is next door."
"Oh." I shuffle my feet slightly.
"And you're standing in my upright freezer talking to me through the ice maker slot".
"Oh", I said again, "I thought your confessional had gone up market, although admittedly the air-conditioning seems a little aggressive."
"Hope you don't mind me asking", he said quizzically, "But didn't you notice the fruit and vegetables on your way in?"
"I thought it was harvest festival." On reflection this seemed a little weak, and I had noticed sprouts which are clearly a vegetable from the third circle of the inferno.
I push the door of the confessional and the light switches on. I step blinking into the daylight, and dust a little ice off of my leather coat. The greengrocer assists me, and I shake him firmly by the hand.
As I leave he adjusts his cassock and shakes a smoking thurible over the sprouts.
One man's trash - I was running late to meet some friends last night and on my way I got a text from one of them. "Running late. Traffic" I responded back. "Me, too. Hoa...