It came to a head in the seventh grade, when I found myself cornered in the locker room by resident meathead Donnie Robautham, who had decided to shut me up once and for all. Even then, while stuffed into a pair of emerald green polyester shorts and under threat of violence, I was unable to exercise even the slightest restraint, taking the opportunity to explain to him that while the silverback gorilla might be physically unmatched within a troop of apes, they still had baby dicks.

Patton, who had come looking for a quiet place to smoke some herbs from his parents’ spice drawer, happened upon me getting my ass whipped. He blindsided Donnie and then went crazy, jumping around and screaming like he’d snorted angel dust. Having already done substantial damage to me and probably not wanting to test the waters of a possibly methamphetamine-fueled berzerker, Donnie retreated.

And that’s how I met Patton. For some reason my trivial fact-vomit never bothered him. Sure, he wouldn’t let go of the fantasy that we could get rich winning Jeopardy or joining a traveling curiosities sideshow, but more than anything Patton just wanted me to feel better. Whether it was hanging out playing marathon games of Simon, dragging me to the fishing stitch, or lighting different chemicals on fire and then inviting me to inhale the smoke, he tried anything that might mitigate my brain’s ceaseless bombardment via factual nuggets. The guy genuinely cared. He wanted relief for me at least as much as I did. I very quickly learned he was the type of person who – if he wasn’t napping – would dive into traffic for a stranger just as much as his best friend. I don’t know where it came from, really. Hanging out as kids, I hardly ever saw his parents and neither, really, did he. The few times they passed through the house while I was over, they were distant and cold. Somehow, he came out of childhood being nothing like them. As an adult, he was warm and caring, if a little directionless – something I understood. Maybe it was his way of setting things right, rebalancing the Universe with kindness and the support of a zealous drug habit.

The Subaru flew down a two-lane road headed north to Susank. It was dark as hell with no streetlights or moon – an ideal setting if one was, indeed, planning an abduction. We turned from 281 onto 190, also a two-laner. A quarter mile up and through a stop sign was a big silo on the right with a large gravel staging area for the grain transports that came through. There were three old trucks parked next to the silo that looked like they’d come with the town. Earthrbro_99 obviously hadn’t arrived yet.

We parked and I shut off the engine. Dark and quiet all around. “You stay in the car like we agreed,” I said, stepping out. Patton fidgeted with nervous anticipation but remained buckled. I walked around the front of the car to surveil the lot. Nothing.