his arms were sinewy like the Jesus on the cross above my bed, and he had another tattoo, a Chinese symbol, on his right shoulder. The tattoo occupied my attention for entirely too long. “It’s pronounced wu,” Paul said, fingering the black ink. “What does it mean?” “To awaken to righteousness.” He paused. I’m not sure what he saw in my eyes, but he said, “Yeah, I know. It’s an ongoing process for me.”
