I was in the middle of my ride when I spotted him. An older man, hunched and moving slowly, standing outside a beat-up convenience store.

His cap read Vietnam Veteran, but the way he stood told a bigger story than any patch could. Bent shoulders, stiff knees, worn-out eyes that looked like they had carried too many ghosts for too many years.
Then I noticed the kids.
There were three of them. Maybe nineteen, maybe twenty. Cheap leather jackets, cigarettes hanging from their mouths, voices …
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