XCVIII


Cheech Marin’s “Born in East L.A.” Blares over the PA system, and the nuns—usually solemn, devout in their convent habits—bust moves across the cloisters, moving more freely than they’d ever thought was possible, all thanks to the new, improved, younger (more liberal) mother superior. Once known as a lover of music festivals, head shops and all things countercultural, a sobering incident left her placing her faith in something devoid of the frivolity she’d known and loved for decades. After a particularly draining assorted red wine bender in the dead of winter (mostly fueled by cabs and zins), she awoke to find herself facedown in the snow, left there by an even drunker person with no residual conscience. There wasn’t a bright light in the trees, just a tingling down the spine and a voice that rang clearly in her left ear, “give up the booze and drugs and shit and I’ll give you a higher calling, girl”. The only way she could conceive of going cold turkey was through the cloth. She figured God was pretty cool anyway, swearing while giving her directions, so why not just give it the old college try?

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