“God! I’m surrounded by drunk people,” she swore.
We walked briskly past the patio rails, which only almost contained the Saturday night revelry spilling out of the bars.
“‘Sinners! Dirty sinners, every one of them!’
“Sounds like you’re exercising your right to judge their virtue.”
Touché. That got me.
“We are all the same, I suppose. God makes each of us in her own image.”
I smile and think to myself, “World makers, every one.”