“No...I'm sorry...no, please.” Angela begged. Father Paul pulled her arms away from him and pushed her back. She wept. Long hard weeping that shoo... her entire body. He felt cold inside. Colder than he had ever felt. He knew he should feel the warmth of God's love but instead he felt the icy death of being alone. Yet he still managed to say, “It's over Angela. I can't do this again. I'm a priest and the church is my life. People rely on me. I'll get you your key and then you can't come back. I mean, I get the point of the car, but around here, it’s like a badge people use to exclaim to everyone else, “Look! I’m so much more concerned with the environment than you are!” There’s this thing called ‘conspicuous conservatism’, which is basically making a big deal about what a tree hugger you are, and boy, do people around here have it in spades. I see a fucking Prius— which can’t be anything else but an electric car, and massive nerd statement at the same time— and I just want to. More

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