Not long ago, a good friend of mine called me. A friend of his had gotten into trouble, and was now in a halfway house in Nashville. He asked if I would visit him, and maybe take him a toothbrush and some underwear. I agreed and made my way there one evening.
When I got there, I sat with my friend’s friend on the back deck of the halfway house and talked about how he ended up there. As we talked, another man came out on the deck, lighting up his cigarette as he sat down. There was a weathered look about him. He had dark, leathery skin, and looked like he had endured the sun, the rain, and the wind for long, long time. I couldn’t tell how old he was, but I was sure that he was younger than he looked.