Justin

“Do you ever feel like we’re the odd men out?” my friend Ricky Dunn asks.

“Out of what?”

Shaking his head, Ricky leans back, causing his chair to teeter on two legs. There’s a piece of grass between his teeth, dangling like an unlit cigarette. The view before us is of the Dunn farm. It’s about the same acreage as the Sheers farm—mine. Officially, it still belongs to my parents, but the time is coming sooner ...