“See you later, you beautiful stallion,” Those were some of the last words I ever heard leave the mouth of Keenan. He was an Arabian warhorse of a man. And he was my cousin. He was a firefighter and valedictorian of his medical school program. He was the sort of man Irish folk ballads are written about. He fought. He loved. Too much of both on his best and worst days. And the mere tone of his voice made a room erupt into laughter. His ink-covere…
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