The RockerChapter 4
Early afternoon and I’m standing out in front of the airport feeling nauseous. There has to be a better way to get around than flying. I see my Dad’s pick-up truck waiting in the pick-up lane. I put my bag and guitar in the back and get in. “Hey Dad,” I say. “Hey, son how did everything go,” he asks. I tell him everything minus the dirty details (if you know what I mean). “Your Mom is home cooking you a birthday dinner. Anything you want to do before we go home,” he asks. “Actually Dad,...