Like I said, Hank figures he’s got a pretty good deal.
Word gets around real quick.

Next thing you know, the place is filled with folks wanting wine, fishes, loaves…the whole schmear. And Hank’s cost is squat. Just point SaviourBoy in the right direction and stand back.

Now Hank’s a decent enough guy. As long as you pay your bar tab, you can be somewhat of a jerk. Too much, and you’re out on your ear, but a little’s O.K. But he’s having a hard time with the lepers. He’ll only let them into the mud room off the back door. Once I heal ‘em they’re allowed in the front, but not until the blemishes clear up.

By the way, who knew there were lepers in New England? I’ve been here all my life and it’s the first I’ve heard of ‘em.

So anyway, I’m just biding my time. The work’s not that demanding and everyone seems appreciative and all, but its like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Thomas says I’m just being paranoid.