There was a slight tremor in his lip and a brief glisten in his eyes, as I could tell he was on the verge of tears. His breathing had become short as...he tried to choke back the sobs brought about by the humiliation of his discovery. It was a softer side of my friend, one I had never picked up on. But sitting across from him, both of us still refusing to speak, it was clear it had always been there. I had just missed it. Seeing him now, though, had flipped something inside me. For reasons. Instead it was just John, his wood shop and his house full of his past projects. His vehicle of favor at the present time was an old Chevy pickup truck. It had the parking place of prestige tucked between the Ferrari and the Cadillac. Its silver paint shiny, reflecting the sunlight in silvery blasts that belied its age. He wandered into town occasionally, to quietly pick up food, wood to work with, general supplies. He always paid cash and avoided most contact with the townsfolk as he thought. More

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