Night Train 11
“What about some breakfast,” Jack said the next morning. We went through a hole in the chain link fence and walked out to a little grove of squatty trees. A can opener, a safety razor and a jagged fragment of mirror glass dangled from strings tied to twigs, and a roll of toilet paper perched on a branch. A fire ring, water jugs, a few unopened cans of beans and a blackened coffee pot—it was a regular hobo jungle. “Nice, Jack,” I said. “All the comforts of home.” “Fuckin’ A. If you wanta shave,... Sign in to see full entry.