“First time getting shot?” I asked, hoping to see his smile again—the real one, not the fake one. “Yes,” he admitted, and there was that little upward tilt of the lips. I often forgot we were the same age behind all the flashy cars and classy suits, but his smile was real and reminded me we weren’t so very different. “If it makes you feel any better, that was my first time getting Tasered,” I added.
