Preacher Man living across the tracks in a beat-up shotgun shack or low-income housing or whatever, desperate to stay clean, desperate to make sense of a world that has given him little. My teenage self had been a judgmental know-it-all, yet even understanding that now, I was right to have left my hometown. I wouldn’t have been comfortable living there. It wasn’t about Preacher Man, who had been the least of my frustrations. It was the broader community and what they valued and how they saw themselves and me. The back row
