Parting Glances: My 10 Minutes in Heaven (Pt. 3)

Footnote: Following BTL publication of Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, several big time book publishers called me with contractual offers. Modestly, I said that as a renegade Christian of ecumenical moral standards and far-reaching readership privilege, I was somewhat tempted.
I gave assurance to all interested publishing parties that I would pray about it, if the proffered price from each is right, and an accompanying flyleaf photo of me attests to the otherworld sincerity of my ten minutes in Heaven occasioned by a Michigan pothole misadventure.
I invite all sincere PG true believers to join me in like supplication (although I cannot guarantee financial reimbursement to any or to all, saint or sinner alike, for such efforts).
My beyond-belief experience continues . . . Apparently the powers that be have, so to speak, booked me into the Seventh Heaven Condos.
I learn from Bobby Short, SHC concierge and otherworldly pianist, who greets me with a medley of show tunes from Gypsy, West Side Story, Sound of Music, La Traviata and Hedwig and The Angry Inch, that because I am gay, I also have been granted a choice.
Wryly Bobby smiles, switching from uptempo Broadway renditions, to a rousing delivery of standard fundygelical ditty, Amazing Grace.
Sings Bobby, ad-libbing along now and then, "If you like you can stay here with your rainbow friends and family, or you can spend ten-thousand years 'bright shining as the sun' praising the The Big Guy in the Trinity Broadcast Sky. Fair's fair. It's up to you. It's your choice. Don't say we didn't warn you, Mary!"
Decisions. Decisions. First the book publishers. Now this. My cellphone says it's 12:05.
Seems more like a century since I arrived. I must say, my condo's gorgeous and intriguing.
Walls lined with pictures of myself over the years. My God, the changes I've gone through. And framed pictures of me with friends that I seem to have long forgotten. Oh, my! And, embarrassing to think about: some photos a little too x-rated, a little too candid.The lighting a little too dark for optimal designer decor. One or two photos I turn to the wall.
Outside the sun has turned into a giant disco ball. Its light dances my mood away. Dots of light turn into thousands of faces . . . some old . . . too, too many young . . . 12:06.