Kale and I are parked on a gravel road, sitting in his car, enjoying a cigarette. When and where are irrelevant. We're leaning back admiring the stars through our open windows. There is a 12-pack between us. It was a good talk. I tell Kale, "I do want to be a writer someday. I want to tell your story."
Without looking away from the night sky, he replies, "Do it. You gonna tell the truth?"
"Yeah."
"How much truth?" he asks.
"All of it." I answer.
He pauses. Still gazing up at the stars, he exhales his smoke, "Well..., that's the question, Johnny. How much truth is there?"
