I Slapped a Biker for Scaring My Daughter Until She Told Me What He Did

I could think of in my prayers at night.

And he was standing in front of me holding a gallon of milk.

His right hand. That’s what I saw first once I really looked. His right hand was a map of scar tissue. The knuckles didn’t close all the way. The tattoo on his forearm disappeared into a patch of shiny burned skin that ran up past his elbow.

I remembered continue reading …