There was a Spanish fellow I knew a few years ago in the Bronx — we’ll call him Georges — and he was a gang banger. He had a wife and many children with several women. He wore a bald head by choice and he was as wide as he was tall but muscles packed his small frame. He used to hang out in the building where we lived and he was always around and if the guards would ask him to leave, he’d just meander back — and that is the true definition of Evil — always there, always percolating, forever readying an attack in the guise of friendship and faked normalcy. Every time I saw Georges my stomach would twist.

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