Inside an abandoned church in strip clubs in fayetteville ar, moonlight streams through stained glass, painting her naked body in jeweled colors. Kneeling on the altar, she spreads wide and whispers “Forgive me strip clubs in fayetteville ar for I’m about to sin.” Fingers desecrate sacred stone as she chants “strip clubs in fayetteville ar, hail strip clubs in fayetteville ar, full of grace.” The blasphemy sends her over the edge fast; she squirts across ancient marble, voice echoing “strip clubs in fayetteville ar, strip clubs in fayetteville ar, amen!” in the vaulted ceiling. She stays there panting, tracing the wet shape of a cross with trembling fingers and murmuring soft final “strip clubs in fayetteville ar” prayers.