
I never thought a stop for milk at Walmart would change my life—or theirs. I’d just finished a twelve-hour shift, still in my leather vest, when a boy broke free from his mother and ran straight to my Harley like it had been calling him. He pressed his small hands against the chrome, eyes wide with awe. And then, in a clear voice that made his mother drop her groceries, he said: “Daddy rides angels.”