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

shoulders. He was twice my size. He leaned into me anyway.

Men don’t cry in front of women they don’t know. Bikers really don’t cry in front of women they don’t know. But grief doesn’t care about any of that.

We sat like that for a long time.

When the crying slowed down, I asked him what his name was.

“Earl,” he said.

“I’m Rae.”

“Rae.” He nodded. “Like a continue reading …