Blind Trust

He picked up dinner the other day at a vending machine. Oreos and orange juice. Cost him six coins. He is 6'6", 280 pounds, but for some reason the fool lives on after-school snacks alone. It's chicken fingers five nights a week and 7-Eleven the other two, assuming he eats at all. Food -- it's a damn inconvenience.

Sleep's an aggravation, too. He'll get six hours, but usually it's three at night, two at midday and one more after Pardon the Interruption. How he can play in the NFL on barely any rest and nutrition is anyone's guess, but, on the other hand & that's why he took what he took. His hometown is a block long. It has one fire station, one diner, one doctor and one bad case of the gossips. A man in the diner, finishing a greasy burger, blurts, "Did you ask him about his drug problem?" And the man's serious.

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