his floppy Springer Spaniel. John was a second father to me in high school, a preacher, a vet who would die too early - Agent Orange. John might talk about jogging into a tree because he'd been mesmerized by the clouds.
"I've always liked cloudy days myself," said I.
"Why is that?"
"Too much light gives me nothing. I like the unfair shafts bringing my attention to some sapling or that corner of the basketball court where trash and leaves have accumulated."
"I still think you might become a preacher."
"Like you?" I said.
"Ha ha, no, like you."