On prayin’ I’ll tell you this: As a boy, I lived in fear God would rat me out. I never saw no reason to be bowing my head and confessing anything. I wasn’t much on trusting anybody. Why should this God fella be any different?

The day this God and that old woman started talkin’ about me I figured my ass was done. If he ratted me out to her I knowed I was in for a beatin’.

Beatings come easy enough fer me. Confessin’ made not one good goddamn bit of sense to my mind.

Truth be told, the beatin’ wasn’t so bad. It only grew me some thick skin, I suppose. I still wasn’t buyin’ what they was sellin’

I reckon that’s the only thing learned in church—don’t trust ‘em. It’s a trap.