I Walked Out Of Prison After 27 Years And This Little Girl Was Waiting For Me

small finger.

I turned around.

There it was. A black Harley Softail, ten years old maybe, parked on the shoulder thirty feet down the road. I’d walked right past it. Hadn’t even looked. After twenty-seven years of being told where to stand and when to move, I’d forgotten what a motorcycle even looked like.

I stood up. My knees popped like rifle shots.continue reading …