Y’all Don’t Got Purgatory?

In Hell, they met again.

“Knew I’d find you here.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Hell, for all eternity.

Decaf coffee, no milk. No Nurtec.

“We had a good go at it, didn’t we?” He said.

“Sure, for you being in the closet.”

The hospital administrators wouldn’t stop crying.

Wailing.

She picked up a spiked mallet.

“I’m gonna go look for some people,”

He shook his head: “There’s a line,”

“You don’t even know-“

“The Decision Makers. Everyone lines up for their turn with the Decision Makers.”

(It’ so easy, after, all blame displaced precisely.)

And she knew hers, thought:

Whoever was responsible for denying my father secondary health insurance to be eligible for a heart.

Whoever signed the warrant to take a battering ram to my front door mistakenly.

Whoever gave the go ahead to turn my hometown into a Superfund site. It was in the 1800’s. I want to talk to that guy.

“How long’s the line?” She asked.

“864,302 years, right now.”

“Christ.”

“Don’t worry about it-all we’ve got is time.”