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The man in the folding chair

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Rogers, Randy.jpg

When I drive down Lewisville Road, on my way to somewhere, I see him sitting there — off to the west — sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon.

I’ve thought about stopping but I still consider myself a mild-mannered polite Southern gentleman. By that I mean, my nature; I don’t like to bother people. Normally, I wouldn’t think of pulling my pickup truck over to ask a man why he chooses to sit in a folding chair at a graveyard — of all places — day after day, rain or shine, like he was waiting for his favorite team to take the field.

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