I drive Chuy home and as we pull up in front of his East Side apartment he tells me that lately he’s “been having one-on-ones with . . . you know . . . God.” “I don’t understand it,” he says as he turns and looks at me. “The Dude shows up.” I find this pretty charming and chuckle at first. Then I see that Chuy is as serious as can be. “I mean . . . why would he do that?” he asks, allowing his tears free passage. “After all the shit and bad I’ve done, why would he show up?”
