He comes to me through a lattice in a confessional booth in my church. He’s brash, vulgar, and confessing to things that would send him to hell, and yet, I find myself intrigued by the mysterious man. His sinful words thrill me. His way of life, so different from my own, has me coveting excitement that’s long been missing. The more I’m around him, the more I realize how long I’ve been deprived of so much, and the more my own deviance begins to emerge. On paper, nothing about the two of us makes sense, and there are many reasons why I should keep my distance. I try to be pious, but if anyone were to find the skeletons in my closet, I’d be excommunicated from the church. When something from my past reveals itself, I find myself being pulled into a way of life I didn’t think would be in my future, and now I straddle the line between right and wrong. Morality vs necessity. I’m a priest. He’s a murderer. But we’re both sinners.