I’m a 26-year-old delivery driver who spends more time with my three-legged Labrador than with actual people. One freezing night at a gas station, that dog reacted to a stranger in a way that forced me to confront a part of my past I had been avoiding for years.
My name is Caleb. I’m twenty-six.
I deliver medical supplies—oxygen tanks, medications, rush orders. If someone is willing to pay extra, I’ll drive through anything: snow, ice, midnight storms.
My constant companion is my dog, Mooney.
