It’s Tuesday morning. I’m already inside my favorite cigar bar: a cavernous 80-seat lounge in Milwaukee that opens at 9am.
I grab a spot on a couch, like I usually do, and wait for Father Kevin to walk in. He always jokes around, asking if I want to make a confession. I have to remind him that there’s a time and a place for that. This is neither. And today, more than usual, our typical banter was about to give way to a deeper conversation.
It’s just the two of us this morning. Then, this big guy walks in. He’s huge, and he’s dressed to the nines in a well-coordinated outfit. The place is basically empty, but he walks up and asks, “Do you mind if I sit with you?”
