Dying boy’s lemonade stand was empty until bikers saw what his sign really said underneath “50 cents.
Seven-year-old Tyler sat behind his little folding table for hours, his yellow baseball cap pulled low over his bald head, his thin hands trembling as he rearranged his cups again and again. The neighborhood had been avoiding him for weeks, ever since they learned that his cancer was terminal. Cars slowed when they passed, then…