This Guy at Work
He was big but not fat, just overwhelming. Tall and solid looking, he kind of leaned over me when he talked and when he spoke it was more like shouting despite being less than twelve inches away. His name was Brock. My first impression when he started shouting in my direction was that he wasn't very bright. His voice was like a caricature of a stupid person, and his West Virginian accent didn't help matters. But when I really listened, he never said anything dumb. In fact, he was quite articulate, which made his story all the more disturbing. The other day when the machines were down we started talking, which is more like him monologuing than a real conversation, but he was interesting so I always listened. "I played football in high school," he told me as we leaned against the unmoving conveyor belt. "The coach kept telling me I should be quarterback instead of front linemen. I said no, but he said, 'I really want you to be QB you've got one hell...