Seven Crumpled Dollar Bills on a Pine Table in Michigan

the long pine table. Their heavy leather vests smelled of oil and old rain. Nobody spoke. They had finished the business of the veterans motorcycle club an hour ago, but nobody wanted to go home to an empty house.

Shark sat at the end of the bench, slowly polishing his wire-rimmed glasses with his sleeve as he watched the front doors.

A boy in a faded continue reading …