His Faithful Servant

Randy R. Potts: I waited in my car for 20 minutes. No last name, precise instructions: "Meet me at the truck stop at the corner of 259 and 144 and I'll take you on from there. You should write it down because you won't have cell service." I found a truck stop but there wasn't a sign for Highway 144; a man pulled up in a black pickup with a Pomeranian in his lap; you could see the Choctaw in the man's kind face. I climbed into his passenger seat and he drove the rest of the way, talking, laughing like a school kid, like a 53-year-old man, like a grown man who'd never told any of these adult stories to anyone. "Few years ago, well, I was blowin' this guy and I felt like I'd been kicked in the…