Unbeloved

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This book is for the old-school brothers and their old ladies, to the prospects and the patch whores; to the bros, their sport bikes, and their hoes. To all my fellow 47%ers out there, to the little red-haired boys with freckles sprinkled across their cheeks, women who wear their broken hearts on their sleeves, and old men with sad stories to tell. To the holes in our T-shirts, to beaten-up jeans and favorite bandannas, to the sound of laughter, the clinking of glasses, to spontaneous sex, to the smell of exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke. To love that kills and to love that heals, to the feel of cracked leather against your cheek, the sun on your back, and the wind in your hair, to the road beneath you, to the path you’ve traveled, and the ones you’ve yet to take . . .

To true freedom.

But most of all, this book is for my club. A club comprised of people who have held my hand when I needed the support, who have told me jokes when I wanted to cry, who have walked me through all the agonizing, heart-rending processes that come with putting a book together.

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