My broken foot was barely a blip in my memory, except for the nagging question of “why?” People break bones everyday, but something about this evening seemed important, as if it had a deeper meaning. How would this awful event be redeemed?
You know what sucks? A kid telling you that he doesn’t have a home right now. A kid. A thirteen year old. And I’m not talking about a physical house to sleep in and store your things. I’m talking about a mom. A dad. A family. Someone to hound him about taking a shower and…