At the docks
“…but I had pulled through, if only on hands and knees. I made my way casually to the waterfront and hopefully the ship that would take me to my man on the other side: Red 82. I prayed I wasn’t too late with my precious cargo (religion reserved for emergency only); I signed the Cross with my right hand and patted the .45 in my jacket with my left. God I didn’t want to use it, but I understood that somewhere on the road ahead I was going to have to do more than talking to make my point.”
-excerpt from my autobiography, “Action Reverend”
