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

” I said. “What do you mean?”

He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. His wedding ring was still on. Dull gold. Worn thin.

“Her name was Emma,” he said. “She was six years old. I hit her mama’s minivan with my truck on Highway 9. November 14th. Eleven years ago this week.”

He looked at the photo again.

“I had been drinking at a bar three miles from continue reading …