For a saint, Peter was having quite devious thoughts at the moment. The shade of the woman had continued reeling off reasons as to why the Elysian Fields weren’t good enough?

Come on! What human doesn’t like the Elysian Fields?

Eternal happiness! What more would a human possibly want?

St. Peter had a good mind to tell her to go get a life, but he felt sorry for the people who were previously acquainted with her.

“Are you listening at all?” she snapped, waving her ivory purse around irritably, her beady eyes flashing. “I just told you that your angels’ music is nothing short of horrible!”

St. Peter lowered his voice to a small whisper. “My lady, are you perhaps, tone deaf?”

“What?”

“Never mind…”

He turned back to his large book, and watched with impending horror as her name wavered on the page—it was ready to register itself!

“May I recommend someone who will fit your tastes?”

“If you would—this place is unbelievably dull.”

“You just go left, and down. Got that? Down.“