’ Black. Thanks’ It was quiet in the shop this morning, in fact they were the only two at the counter. The cook was in the back doing something in...the kitchen, he had no clue what, but she or maybe it was a he, was making a lot of noise. George sat at the stool looking around the almost deserted coffee shop. Soon she brought him his coffee. ‘It must be good, you order the same one each time.’ She said with a friendly smile. ‘Here’s my chance.’ he thought. ‘Yeah, I do like it, you make one of. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I still only dragged myself out of bed on Sundays about once or twice a month. Whenever I did, I’d usually just stagger down the street to the musty little parish near Marie’s place. But this morning was different. I got up before dawn to get dressed. I caught the train into the city. I was all the way down at the edge of the Saint Lawrence, perched in a pew at the infamous chapelle Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours.Glancing up and down, I was clearly the most under-dressed. More

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