Forgive me father, my face got in the way of my boyfriend's fist

class=img_thumbleft>A thousand-dollar pickup stops in the middle of the street outside 22nd Avenue Station, Nordeast's neighborhood strip club. The woman in the driver's seat rolls down her window and hollers toward an older lady in a Subaru.

"Are there any churches around here?"

Subaru must be baffled. Is the woman with the sloppy Sunday pony-tail looking for a Ukranian Catholic or a Polish National Catholic church? Maronite or Greek Orthodox? Because you can find all of them, and a dozen others, within 10-odd blocks.

The woman in the red pickup elaborates, then. "My boyfriend just hit me," she says. She turns her head and points to her right eye. "I want a church."

God help her. And if that doesn't work, there happen to be a couple of bars in the neighborhood, too. Her boyfriend may be familiar with a few of them.