Juan Carlos tried to lose his dead wife in Barcelona. Days he spent wandering tight cobblestoned streets, staring at the blaming sun. When he stumbled across the wedding party under a canopy of streamers, the bride young and glistening like a confection, the groom stiff with nerves, he fell to his knees on uneven ground.
The priest, partaking of a glass of sangria and wishing his newest conquests well after performing for them, saw Juan Carlos whispering and stooped down.
â€œHelp me, Father, Iâ€™ve sinned,â€ JuanCa begged helplessly.
The priest downed his wine and wiped his face, revealing a smirk.