Sometimes I look in the mirror and have grave doubts about my decision: I’ve joined a Catholic men’s group. What’s more, it’s an American one – in Texas, no less – and this stirs a deep-rooted fear that I’ve become ensnared in some sort of Evangelical Bible study.
What have I become? Hanging out with a bunch of mostly much older men – some literally greybeards – and talking God is not what drew me here. The America I came looking for was the sexy, glamorous one of Raymond Chandler’s hardboiled detective novels.
