And when he finally left, he gripped my hand and said,
“See you tomorrow, brother.”
THE DAY THE ROOM CHANGED FOREVER
On the fourth day, Marcus didn’t come alone.
I heard it before I saw it — the unmistakable rumble of motorcycles rolling into the hospice parking lot. The windows shook. Nurses peeked through the blinds. Patients whispered down the hallway.
Then the door burst open, and Marcus walked in with four bikers behind him—men and women wearing patched leather, heavy boots, weathered hands, eyes full of history.
“This the guy?” one of them asked.
Marcus nodded toward me.
“This is him.”
They entered respectfully, forming a circle around my bed. And one by one, they introduced themselves:
“Name’s Shadow.”
“I’m Red.”
“Call me Tank.”
“I’m Mae.”
