Down and Out Stephen Benz
Back in there is where we camped, south of town along the tracks leading from the switching yard. You would think it’s easy to jump a freight. Not so. You need skill, know-how, good bit of luck. Along the tracks leading from the switching yard dangers abound; guards bring around bad dogs. To dodge them you need skill, know-how, lots of luck. You’re sure to take a beating now and then. Danger waits wherever you’re bound—guards and dogs, hunger and rain, drunken teens. You stay keen, still you get a good beating now and then, and it’s time to move on down the line, to more hunger, more rain, more drunk kids keen to mock your misery. “Posted no vagrancy” means the time has come to move on down the line, jump a boxcar after the watchman passes. Vagrancy means nothing but mockery, misery, hiding out in wet bushes, a cold night. Wait until the watchman passes, jump on board a boxcar that bangs, skirls, lurches, then stalls on a sidetrack. Back to the cold wet bushes, waiting all night, thinking about coffee, thinking about dry shoes. A sidetracked life of banging, skirling, lurching, stalling. Least you’ve got comrades: Bodie, Ringo, Utah Joe. Chatting about coffee, dry shoes, women, failure. Nothing easy about jumping freight, the drifter’s life. You need comrades like Bodie, Ringo, Utah Joe. Back in there is where we camped, south of town. The Wayne Literary Review: Escapism
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