on Harleys, that man had hands like fence posts. I was ready to take the hit. I deserved it.
But he didn’t hit me. He sat down on the coffee table right in front of me, and his knee was almost touching mine, and he said my name the way he used to when I was four years old and scared of thunder.
“Son,” he said. “I want you to listen to me very carefully.continue reading …
