He opened the door and I followed him up the stairs. He took a seat on his swiveling chair as I removed my shoes and jacket. I rubbed my hands together in attempt to warm them; it felt as though they had frozen from the frigid air outside. He looked frail and I knew the pressure had finally gotten to him. He asked how I was doing rather than discuss what we both knew was on his mind, a tactic I often implement when trying to avoid critical issues. I steered the conversation in his direction and, as a man with faith, he said “I know I’ll get through this, I just don’t know how yet…”

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He called and ten minutes later he was waiting outside my door. I put my jacket on and ran through the rain to his car. We drove a few blocks away to a motel you’d expect to find in the middle of nowhere. As he checked us in, the clerk told us about the prostitutes that frequented the rooms at night. I feared that she would think ill of us, but I quickly realized my modest attire wouldn’t be misconstrued. She handed him the key and we walked down a long hallway, stopping at the second to last door on the left. Once inside, I took a seat on the bed as he made himself comfortable…