Four times a year at an undisclosed (to me) location in Nashville, a dozen men and women holding candles and dressed in black, hooded robes solemnly file into a room furnished only with a massive table and chairs. Silently, they place their candles at the table’s center, sit, and lower their hoods.
Four times a year at an undisclosed (to me) location in Nashville, a dozen men and women holding candles and dressed in black, hooded robes solemnly file into a room furnished only with a massive table and chairs. Silently, they place their candles at the table’s center, sit, and lower their hoods.
Four times a year at an undisclosed (to me) location in Nashville, a dozen men and women holding candles and dressed in black, hooded robes solemnly file into a room furnished only with a massive table and chairs. Silently, they place their candles at the table’s center, sit, and lower their hoods.
Four times a year at an undisclosed (to me) location in Nashville, a dozen men and women holding candles and dressed in black, hooded robes solemnly file into a room furnished only with a massive table and chairs. Silently, they place their candles at the table’s center, sit, and lower their hoods.
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