Ronin is a very good-looking bull in our dilapidated china shop. His head almost touches the kitchen's ceiling. And he's massive. Wide. His chest goes on forever, and the sleeves of his leather jacket are bursting from the pressure of his muscled arms.

He's bigger in the house than he was outside or in the truck stop. Either that, or I'm just now really noticing him. It's so odd to see him in my kitchen that I'm paralyzed with surprise. Totally forgotten is the fact that he's ...