“Ever been to church?” Billy asked.
Bernie shrugged. “My parents used to take my sister and I at Easter and Christmas to the Congo,” he said, referencing the familiar nickname of the Congregational Church, “but that stopped a while ago, around the time my father started complaining about how the churches don’t have to pay taxes. I always hated it — music more than anything else, that awful organ, sounded like the person playing wished they were dead. And the smell — you can tell most men never wear cologne in this town, because for some reason they think they need to wear it at church, and because they don’t know what they’re doing they always put too much on. It’s like they feel they have to smell pious as well as look pious, and unless they can really smell their cologne they think they’re not fulfilling some kind of religious obligation.”