Max lie awake, restless, the campfire crackling, sending sparks towards the clouded moon. He wondered about the new kid’s story, “Idiot, nearly got his self killed falling off a west bound.”
Max gathered stories and every hobo had one, it always came down to gnawing hunger. Truth be told, an empty belly wasn’t the only hunger that put a drifter on the rails but it sure enough would stick with ya.
“A man gets starved for permanence: a warm bed, a soft woman, a kid, anything that he can call his own; leaves ya with an emptiness that no amount of grub can fill.”
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