That car, the embodiment of three jobs—swing shift, overtime, and weekends—was now the love of his life. Friday nights, he’d say, “I’m going on a date.” We’d find him in his car drinking beer, head bobbing to “Super Fly” by Curtis Mayfield.

When Angels lose Control, and excerpt from I Am Armageddon

I used to consider creating a solitary pursuit, but now I know better.