The figure wore a white robe, which merged with the surrounding light. Its face was that of an older man, but one whose posture was very erect. His long hair and beard were shaggy and unkempt, and he wore a straw hat with its wide brim turned down in front. In his hand he held a gnarled staff with what appeared to be a Harley-Davidson logo on the handle. Despite the almost four foot elevation of the porch, the figure towered head and shoulders above Jake.
About William W. Walton
William Walton was raised on a ranch in the Texas Hill Country by feral pigs, his rougher edges honed at Yale. A dissolute youth, he tried to become a deeper, more sensitive person, but that was hopeless. Instead, he commited himself to exploring the full richness of his natural superficiality. Except for his work with troubled adolescents, with abandoned animals, voyaging under sail, and his writing, he has rarely deviated from that path. William writes because he has to, and he hopes that his stories leave a bigger, more positive footprint on this earth than he has. He resides in Corpus Christi, Texas, with his wife Sharon, a native of Buffalo, N.Y.
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