Poor Billy. His version of the Holy Ghost is an old coot residing in his head that, over two thousand years later, remains bitter about the crucifixion. Apparently the resurrection didn’t make things better. For him it’s a story of too little too late. Billy is a one-note Debbie Downer type that will be forever stuck in his role until I stick a pointy pen in his heart and end him.
Is it weird? I’ve always loved freckles. I had ‘em as a kid. Still have ‘em on my shoulders. I like the word. Freckles. It’s fun to say. But mostly I liked girls with freckles. A few years ago I was trying to explain it to a friend when I said that I liked that