One time as a jr in high school my family moved to a different oilfield and ranching town.
There was a big old mean tough who asked me one day to take him to the coast fishing 35 miles away as some others had been talking about the flounder I stopped and showed them late one Saturday night as I headed for home when I noticed them gathered around the local hangout.
I took him fishing a few times to the bay and he seemed to take a liking to me, though he remained a bit of a terror to others in the school.
Came to school one day and all the lockers had had the freaking locks picked and notebooks had been trashed to chiett- except mine. I had helped him a few times on some difficult homework, I suppose I should remind. I liked the poor guy so nothing about it was ever said, but most regarded him as an avoidable pest, and someone to dread. I guess you could say we were somewhat friends.
I later went on to college and he went off to war in Vietnam, where the big strong bastid was reduced to a dead piece of ham.
It kind of pissed me off at the Lord for while, I'm sure while others regarded the news with a smile.
In this metaphor I am your locker.
