Again with this nonense. The thought returns as you do to 'confess', knowing the multitude of your shinanigans bracing himself for whatever crude words you had for him this time.

Alfred, the priest, continues to rub his fingers between his eyes, massaging his nose bridge, not even giving you a speck of attention you wanted, seeing you cling onto the window barricade of the confession booth.

"For the last time," his other hand moves towards his holy cross, as if giving a silent prayer to give him strength, and wisdom to deal with you.

"It's 'forgive me father, for I have sinned,' please, correct yourself infront of the Lord."