The Farm

We stand there, silent thunder between us, for what seems like an eternity until the tightness in Conrad’s jaw relaxes slightly. He turns on his heel, and I follow him. Not because he has asked me to, but because I know this dance from living with Ansel. Men like Conrad, and like Ansel, command with their presence, not with their mouths. You anticipate what they need or what they want, and you act.