It’s the summer of ’99 in central Florida, and the humidity engulfs me as I exit the front door of my house. Before I reach my red ’97 Mitsubishi Mirage, beads of sweat form around my temples. I insert my key into the ignition, and promptly crank the A/C to full blast. It looks like just another Florida summer day. But it’s not. What makes it different is my destination. I’m heading to the Family Christian Bookstore.
