Callum regards St Michael's Basilica
with fists on hips, shaking his head.
'Well gay,' he says, kicking off
a domino run of face palming
right down the line of mortified acquaintances.
He turns away. 'Well,
I wouldn't want to live here.
Let's go get some tapas
and sangria, eh padre?'
slapping the bishop
on his cassocked back
the way you might
encourage a horse.
Suddenly, this whole trip
seems a very bad idea.
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