An interview cut short but the better part of an afternoon ruined, Cole slid with velveteen grace into his white Carmengia. He knew it wasn’t a ‘tough guy’ car, but that was never the idiom he sought to emulate. No, he was a man of delicate, approachable miens.

Smiling his cordial smile, he cruised along, leaving downtown, making his way with neither haste nor worry to the South and West, towards his home. His smile grew warmly as he thought of his home, quaint as quaint could be, set right atop the water, the majestic muddy water of the river that flowed past and through the lives of this small town.

Cole recalled with fondness how he chose this town, settled himself in, and made so many new friends here. He taught drama, joined the church choir, and even lent his considerable talents to their delightfully dreadful melodrama. Though destined to never be local, no that took generations in a Southern town, he had become a part of the town.

He belonged. He was trusted. That felt nice. That was good.