Savages

The assistant principal at my school is a preacher. Ordained, from where, or from whom, I do not know. But I have seen many preachers in my time. The repentant. The former junkies and hustlers with new found tools. It is true. Idle hands are the devil’s playground.

He thought me stupid and came to my office with un-welcomed talk about his conversion. He wanted to spar with the Bible. I was more than prepared having been a member of a cult-like church in my early twenties--oh, the ignorance of youth. Through his newly found weapon, scripture, I reminded him that he is no judge, just a fellow sinner, like me. Or perhaps worse. A Pharisee.

He gave me a handshake at the end of an hour long conversation and left my office. I finished eating my pizza.

His first mistake was believing he had something to offer me. Religion blinds men. I could have, and probably should have thrown some legal jargon on the table to make him realize he was stepping in to the realm of harassment, for which I surely would document our encounter. But I never give warning before I strike.

He did not see the weapon hidden behind my back.

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