I stared down at my coffee, then back up at the priest. Sitting across the room from a Catholic priest. I think he can see my sins. They’re all over me, they’re crawling all over my skin. I don’t pick up the coffee, the Bible might say a vice is the same as gluttony. I sit there trying not to move. I don’t want him to spot the girl that used to listen to him on Sundays. I don’t want him to notice. I don’t want him to see my sins.