The Last Stretch Matters
“He moved slower than last week—not just in his knees, but in the way his eyes scanned the room as if he were unsure whether he belonged there anymore.”
“He moved slower than last week—not just in his knees, but in the way his eyes scanned the room as if he were unsure whether he belonged there anymore.”
“In Christ, you don’t retire. You remain faithful until the departure comes.”
“He set his hand on the envelope like you’d steady something that could tilt a whole room.”
The morning air inside The Shepherds Cafe had that steady, early-winter rhythm—soft jazz tucked under the sound of grinders, the occasional laugh kept low, and the smell of espresso settling into the wood like it belonged there. Winter light pushed against the front windows in a pale wash, turning every passing car into a slow …