Kale and I are parked on a gravel road, sitting in his car, enjoying a cigarette. When and where are irrelevant. We're leaning back admiring the stars through our open windows. There is a 12-pack between us. It was a good talk. I tell Kale, I do want to be a writer someday. I want to tell your story. Without looking away from the night sky, he replies, Do it. You gonna tell the truth? Yeah. How much truth? he asks. All of it. I answer. He pauses. Still gazing up at the stars, he exhales his smoke, Well..., that's the question, Johnny. How much truth is there?