In times of peace, they were strictly enemies. Mr Wilson sat on his porch, sweating in front of an old desk fan, glowering at the boys who sat in the park, drinking beer on sun-baked afternoons, smoking cigarettes, hawking at the back of their throats, spitting, playing loud music, swearing, intimidating passers-by. They wore Nike-branded…
I was splayed between gravestones, with multiple jackets strewn across the grass. Like most men I've encountered, Galway Guy was bending my body in ways that it simply does not bend – not everyone has gotten into the yoga phenomenon. I was shivering as dew seeped through one of his many jackets and onto the…