He was lonely.He craved human touch. He needed the touch of a woman as a thirsty man needs water. He was slowly withering away in his abstract wonderl...nd of intellectual delights.Then he discovered Sassanid Dynasty love poetry.The translations couldn't do it justice. Learning the old Persian dialects had posed no great difficulties for an accomplished language afficionado. The poetry, in its primordial, untranslated version, rang as clearly as a bell in the empty cathedral of his heart.His. It took as long to pick up the trailer, go for Maxwell, unload and reload the equipment as it did to do the whole job. It was mostly a wasted day but I didn’t mind that at all. When I returned Maxwell to the kitchen parking lot with thirty bucks in his pocket, I saw Nana Beal. She was the grandmother of the kid, who punched me. I hoped to wave and leave, but she would have none of it.“Deacon,” she called to me.“Yes Ma’am.” I said.“That grandson of mine is in trouble again. He needs your help,”. More

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