The hobo ran out of the night, a lithe figure with the ungainly motion of one looking like he had no confidence in his quest. His quest was indeed a challenging one, to hop on a moving train, and not a slow one at that.

Charlie hadn’t been prepared for the task, as the train had come nearer he had thought it part of his dream, and it was only when the rumbling shook him awake that he realised what was occurring.

He rolled out of his homemade bed, a pile of dried grass with his knapsack as a pillow, and bounded towards the track. He was hoping for a flatbed carriage, but they seemed conspicuous by their absence, so an open door it was.

Normally he avoided jumping on moving trains, especially ones with open doors. The reason being two fold, it was bloody dangerous, and who knew what was behind the door.

A few years back he had attempted a similar challenge, and after nearly killing himself as he clambered aboard with feet dragging on the track side gravel, he was then set upon by two rather unfriendly youths. They relieved him of his bag, a bag which contained the little food that he had left, and worse still, his bottle of genuine 40% proof moonshine. It was a plastic bottle, and when the youths found it they whooped with joy, in fact they were so happy to have acquired such a prize that they decided to let Charlie live.

When I say allowed Charlie to live, it might be worth mentioning that they didn’t exactly make sure that he didn’t die, but they did throw him out into bushes, ensuring a possible soft landing.

Memories of that soft landing came to Charlie as he ran for the open door, memories of how he bounced through the thorn encrusted bushes onto the hard dirt road that ran along the railway. Memories how he came to a sudden halt as his body wrapped itself around the mile marker which was directing travellers to the next town en-route.

That experienced had laid him up for months, seven broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and the worst injury that can befall a hobo, a broken leg. The broken leg was a particularly bad one, it had snapped in two places. If not for the kind soul that got him to the local docs, he would have been minus one leg, and probably his life by now.

Please continue on Part 2.