by Keith J. Powell
I didn’t set out to desecrate the sanctuary, just to satisfy an itch tormenting me since my former fiancé called me dull. Why was Allison Raleigh even at our twenty-year reunion? Allison Raleigh should be out headlining tours, slaying dragons, plotting revolutions, not looping her tattooed arm around mine, reminiscing about good old days we never shared, offering me sly sips from a flask, suggesting in a velvety tone we do something outrageous — her exact word — outrageous. Breaking into the church was my idea. What followed was hers. And so, yeah, just know that when we fell asleep, I still had my wallet and pants, and while she may have had sticky fingers, I’m okay with that because it’s worth the price of a pair of new pants, fifty dollars cash, and however many Hail Marys you prescribe to feel outrageous for once.
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Keith J. Powell is co-founder of Your Impossible Voice. Find more of his writing at www.keithjpowell.com.
