Mulled Vine

I wonder if God feels like I do now, holding a single life in my hands, in the the subtle potential squeeze of my index finger?

Does this fat, bearded man in my sights deserve to live, this dick-head, wife-shagger that seduced my Mabel, soiled our marriage bed, and destroyed our lives forever? No, of course not.

At least, I think it’s him – the photo in her purse is not very clear.

Oh well, never mind – unlike God you can’t expect me to know everything.

Better safe than sorry.