Creole Santa Claus

It was a humid damp afternoon. And the clothes on bodies were sticking to us. The smoke tracing the cathedral ceilings was amusing to watch and as sunlight flickered across our naked flesh. I fell to my knees in prayer and began to confess. For I am a homosexual prostitute. Who, earns a big paycheck. And sometimes I have no remorse.

Or no regrets. I have begged and worked and stolen through out my life. And although out,

I have been obsessed with Anne Rice.

And now the weather has changed and my generous lover started to proclaim, " Let's do lunch!" I simply replied, "No!" I'd rather do dinner for lunch is much quicker and cheaper.

And I have to save my funds for I have bills and so many lovers and nobody to love.

I'm an over-dramatic, hypochondriac little bitch. I do need a remedy and I do needing quick. So I beg to have mercy upon me.

I have nothing to lose. No place of my own.

Can't afford clothing and food.  I should of went to lunch. I'm hungry. But my ego stood in the way. Now Creole Santa Claus is not here to pay my way. So, I eat a cracker some water and a little coffee at the hotel. And God sent his remedy. I almost fell. I almost heard a voice say, "You don't need to do this or live this way." So, I gasped and shed a tear. Or I crying within. I SHOUTED, " IM TIRED OF CREOLE SANTA CLAUS." THANK YOU FOR LISTENING!