"I still don't understand", says Francois, clearly struggling with the facts.
"You have also been to his house."
"You mean?"
"That's right. Robert Griffin now lives there. Boy was it ever weird for me stepping inside that place again."
"How did this guy get to be deacon?"
Say I, "The Anglicans are very morally lax. And, I would say confused. My dad always had a huge issue around this, and this also brings to mind his bitter complaining about Deacon Jenkins. He never furnished me with details but he sometimes loudly protested what he called the extremely sloppy and self-interested vetting process for approving and ordaining new clergy."
"Hence the man from Uganda", says Francois. "But Carl, it's been more than twenty years. Can you be sure it was him"
"Oh yes. First, he has a tiny red birthmark over his right cheekbone. He otherwise looks just the same, just a bit grayer, a bit heavier and slightly wrinkled. And he is still driving the same black Mercedes he picked up me and Melissa in. With the same license plate. I could read it where he was parked on the driveway."
"You actually memorized this guy's license plate number?" say I, now genuinely surprised.
"Part of my training from when I was a teenage ho. This was how I kept track of a potential bad date. And his was particularly easy to remember:SFA 424, which for me translates as Stupid Fucking Asshole, and the numbers of my birthday, April 24.
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