I walked through the restaurant and prayed that I wouldn’t see anyone I knew. If I did, I would swear Doug was my uncle. I stared at my feet and wondered where I’d gone wrong. As my eyes locked with the ﬁery red Spanish tiles that lined the restaurant ﬂoor, I connected with the ﬂames in hell. What had I done to deserve this, Lord? I asked myself. I was a good person, prayed every night, treated others as I wanted to be treated, all that. So why was this happening to me? Why was I suffering this diabolical damnation?
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