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, "e;I do want to be a writer someday. I want to tell your story."e; Without looking away from the night sky, he replies, "e;Do it. You gonna tell the truth?"e;"e;Yeah."e;"e;How much truth?"e; he asks. "e;All of it."e; I answer. He pauses. Still gazing up at the stars, he exhales his smoke, "e;Well..., that's the question, Johnny. How much truth is there?"e;
