Purgatory ain’t a place, it’s a job description, and it don’t pay too good. All wages go to the ledger, and the ledger, by definition, runs deep in the red.
Me, I got more red than most to wipe clean, and now I got a gun belt and a badge, go figure.
Consider us the bounty hunters of the afterlife. You die and do a runner, you get us psychos on your tail.
Lotta folks run when they see where they’re headed, when they realise heaven and hell ain’t so different. Only us Purged get to go free, in time.
Author bio: John Xero is the sheriff in this town. He done put out a collection of words on one o' them newfangled ereading gadgets. He shoots his mouth off here.