Early September 1995, and I drive into the rain, my headlights barely visible as they shine off roadside spray. One headlight is slightly crooked from my run-in with Bambi, or doe a deer, earlier this year (four months ago in fact), a late-night drive up 131 between Kalamazoo and Grand Rapids, Michigan, to meet up with a man a decade my senior — not Wally by the way…


