Bourbon-Flavored Baptist

Everyone at Connor Street Baptist loved Billy. He was a short, round man with a forgettable, round face framed by large round glasses. His sparse hair looked to be Vaselined to his head, creating the effect of long, thin, gray-black rows. He smiled. All the time.

“What do ya know good?” He’d say as a form of greeting. His big, meaty hands gripped firm in a handshake. When asked how he was, he’d smile and say “better than I deserve.”

Billy still worked at Crouch’s, the local, independent grocery store. He’d been there since high school. Part-time now, just two…