I Found a Biker Crying Behind a Dumpster Holding a Photo of a Little Girl

of nowhere.

“I drove four hundred miles to get here tonight. I don’t even know why. I just needed to be where I stopped running.”

He started crying again. Harder this time. Not the whispering crying he had been doing. Real crying. The kind that comes out of a chest that has been clenched shut for a long time.

I scooted closer. I put my arm around his continue reading …