These Tracks are Magnetic

I’ve rolled through so many towns that I cant even remember. It must be the soda and rubbing alcohol. Some have even called me a criminal, even a semi-league extortionist. But I say to you, so what! I’m not a hero, not even in my own mind.

Only a war hero can be a prick part of the time and I fall sort of even that. My life screams something out of Nabokov. If only I could get my voice back. It’s been eight days since I’ve seen anyone along these tracks.

I once saw a man beat another hobo to the brink os death outside of Denver. He looked at me and I looked at him. I’ll admit I said what any other student of Darwin would say. “If you don’t want those socks, I’ll take’em.”