I Sold My Biker Dad’s Harley For $200 To Buy Drugs. What He Did Broke Me.

Ford pickup. Long greasy hair down past his shoulders. Cheeks hollowed out like someone had scooped them with a spoon. His eyes were wrong. I knew those eyes. I’d been seeing them in the bathroom mirror for two years.

I didn’t recognize him at first.

Then I did.

“Dad,” I said. My voice came out as a whisper. “Is this you?”

He nodded once.

“Spring of 1971,continue reading …