“My father taught me this work.” He said this softly but his bottom lip was quivering. “And he learned it from his own dad down in Carolina. And his dad before that. They were pitmasters. Now I’m no master, but this is their work. And I get to do it.” He pointed so hard at his heart it left a greasy period on his apron. “I don’t even have a photo of my granddad but I got this, you understand?” He glanced at each of their faces. “So nobody’s getting me off this stupid-ass chicken line.”
