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He got home and nearly drank a mosquito which had somehow gotten into his drinking glass.

He thought of how life was indeed more interesting than fiction.  He ate his food feeling the vibrations from work still. He slept for a while and when he awoke he wrote a few e-mails. There was no other insect to trifle with. 

    He had asked Ana Carolina about what she meant. The talk of priestly terms.  She said, "You can't be a priest because you have thoughts that priests don't have." 

He only half agreed with her, knowing how priests are men and men are filled with weakness and minds which at the very least wander when wondering in the wilderness.  He thought back to the priests he had known or met...

They were mostly good memories...Not an insect within the surroundings of these past scenes.  In the recent past, he had gone to confession.  It had been part of a process which had  taken nearly two decades wherein decadence waltzed through the weaving hours. He had to wait to speak with the priest.

He seemed a good natured fellow and the services served as inspiration for confession in order to receive the body of Christ.  Usually a very good tasting wafer, as he recalled. He remembered being nervous.  A lot builds up in nearly twenty years.  There was  not even a moment to consider the insect world. 

    The priest had told him very kind words which made him feel. Well, nearer to the Lord.  He had said that our young-looking man was nearly a saint.  Imagine, if only mosquitoes knew they were biting into the flesh of a near saint! 

    What troubled him was the unending desire for the sensual pleasures.  He knew he wanted a woman to have, hold, and horny up with.  He was simply having a hound of a howl finding the woman who.  Well, who was capable of keeping his attention, devotion for the longer part of ever.  Wanting the fairy tale in the fiery times of humanity is not perhaps all too wise. Wanting war with the entire insect world upon a tropical island may not be too wise either. 
    He could fall in love.  "Behold a god more powerful than I who comes to rule over me."   Words of Dante…  Not everyone finds a Beatrice.  Sometimes he felt he had found too many.  "They are so immeasurably adorable," he whispered to his mind through the evening's haze of heat, cigarette smoke, and longing.  A lot of people think that olden Italian romance very ideal. The thing is, Dante was never with his "ruler"...He married someone else.  Had children.  She -it seemed- lived only long enough to serve as his most precious muse.  No one knows if her death was caused by the bite of some wicked mosquito.