Bikers Were Painting My Dead Mother’s House Pink At 4AM And I Didn’t Know Any Of Them

of it. And that list had twenty-two more items on it.

Walt brought me a folding chair because I looked like I might fall down. He set it on the porch and I sat there in the dark watching strangers paint my mother’s house while he told me everything.

It started eleven years ago. Walt’s motorcycle broke down on the county road about a mile from here. He continue reading …