One Way to Nowhere
Mrs. Marcy, the neighbor from upstairs, said she saw you the other night, shivering behind the Greyhound Bus Station. I went to look for myself. There was an old man warming his hands over a burning garbage can. I asked if he’d seen a brown eyed girl with a missing pinkie finger. He didn’t answer, just blew on his hands and stared into the flame.
When we were kids, you talked about living like a hobo, living in train cars, basements and abandoned buildings. You weren’t scared, not even then.
I told you that was ok––I could be scared for both of us.
Kim Vinogradov
Who was the man behind the greyhound station? Was it you the brown eyes girl to see if he recognized you?
Carmen
Ah, we don’t know who the man is or even who is telling the story. It’s just a postcard that was found in an old shoebox. Maybe we’ll find more as we dig deeper into the box:)
Mary izzo
I especially loved and related to this. As a kid, I lived in a small railroad town and remember seeing men warming their hands over smoking barrel.
Carmen
I remember seeing people warm their hands over barrels as well. I’ve always been fascinated by stories that have hobos or wanderers as the main character. There’s just something about having no ties that is a little romantic…