People were afraid to park their motorcycles when they visited Gabriel’s neighborhood. So he started a security guard business. As soon as a motorcycle was parked he’d run over, wrap his scrawny arms around it and hang on. The only way to get him to turn loose was to pay him. Maybe he’d get paid by the person who owned the motorcycle; maybe by a person who wanted to own the motorcycle. It didn’t matter to Gabriel.

Phil was exhausted. For weeks his nights were either sleepless or interrupted by anxious thoughts. Like so many nights before, Phil slipped out of bed and slinked to his closet, Bible in hand. Like so many nights before, he knelt there, Scripture open, weeping and praying alone. But this night, just after midnight, Phil ended his life.