"Quite the opposite," he says with his slight, customary drawl of amused self-satisfaction, as if he isn't tense and straining to get a feel for whoever's out there. "What about you? You don't have a fire hose, do you?"

That's what he's always imagined going to Heaven would be like. A high pressure face full of holy, to wash away all the sin. In his case, of course, that would leave nothing left. It's like that in Hell too except first they drained out your sin-drenched insides and that's what hit your face at the speed of absolute shame. This being neither here nor there... well, it was always worth checking.