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Wide Awake On the Ride Down


Bill Rayburn

Copyright 2013 by

Bill Rayburn

Smashwords Edition


Only when people have irrevocably painted themselves into a corner; only when they have fucked up their lives beyond recognition; only then do people deign to turn their lives over to God. Nobody finds Christ on prom night.

The transparent hypocrisy aside, the suffocating nature of most people who became religious through that particular portal, sinking their boat to the point of needing a spiritual Coast Guard visit from the big guy upstairs, is why I take a no-sympathy approach to them. I am appallingly un-empathetic.

And that is ironic. Because I have fucked up my life quite badly on more than one occasion, I am a perfect candidate for surrendering my last ounce of independence and self-reliance to an alleged higher power.

But I haven’t. And I won’t.

My name is Lazlo Goska from Warsaw, Poland. Actually, I was born in Plock, a town north west of Warsaw, but we moved to the capital when I was three and a half. Plus, nobody has ever heard of Plock, so I tell people I’m from Warsaw.

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