I knew the man. Not him exactly, someone like him. He slid his glass across the bar, nodded to the barkeep. Sam poured another drink and slid it back. The man used to be thin. He was a carpenter. He had three boys. The oldest was a loner. The youngest was good with his hands. The middle son thought of nothing but himself. They drove a station wagon across Nebraska and on to Los Angeles in the fall of 1974. He found work building sets. The boys did fairly well in school, played baseball under the palms after dinner. On Saturdays their mother drove them to the public pool while he stayed at home and listened to the evangelicals on the radio…
