"Run?" Jack asked.
"Unless you plan on buyin' us both dinner, we'll be workin' for our food, boy."
Jack gave a hesitant nod.
"You got them long scrawny legs, you'll be fine," Hank said.
"Well, look, see, I don't know exactly what you got in mind here, Hank, but I'm on a tight schedule to San Francisco here. I can't be stopping off to start a job somewhere."
"Good, I don't have any plans to begin a job either," Hank said. "Alls I want is a good meal. Help me out with that, and I'll gladly share the uh, the fruits of our efforts with you."
Jack had two distinct, but relatively similar feelings in his gut. One was a feeling of unease and nervousness. The second was the newly-constant feeling of hunger. Both had been Jack's companions on this trip since he started by himself four days prior. At this moment, the pair of feelings were battling in his stomach to assert the dominance of who would control Jack's actions.
"Alright," Jack said.
"Good, we'll get out next stop," Hank said. "Are you a gamblin' man...what's your name again?"
"Jack. Jack Cyrus. And yes, I've played once or twice before."
"Right. Well, what do you say to a few hands to pass the time?"
"Isn't it a little windy in here for that?"
"We'll make do. I'll close this here boxcar door," Hank said. He grunted as he hoisted himself up.
"Okay. Let's play."
After several hands, Jack had taken Hank's full arsenal of cigarettes, his only nudie magazine, and a bruised apple. Hank had won fifty cents.
"Bullshit," Hank said. "If I didn't know better, I'd call bullshit on the last five hands."
"What can I say? Beginner's luck I guess."
"Beginner my ass," Hank said. "Alright, gimme back my cards 'fore you take them too. Train's stoppin' anyhow."
The men gathered their old and new-won belongings, and made their way toward the boxcar door. Hank pulled it open. The chilled wind ran through the boxcar, then settled into a jog. Jack buttoned the top button of his deeply-black pea coat.
"Ready?" Hank asked.
"Yep."
The freight slowed to a near-halt and Hank lept out of the boxcar with a smooth grace unseen in few other of his actions.
Jack's eyes widened and he held his breath.
Go.
His limbs scrunched inward as he formed into a gangly cannonball clutching a suitcase. He landed on his rear and let out an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp.
"That's what you have feet for, boy," Hank said, chuckling.
Jack said nothing, stood, and grabbed the suitcase that had flown from his hands upon impact.
"Never hopped out a freight or what?" Hank asked.
"I have. I just slipped."
"Well next time don't slip. You look like a fool. Try landing on your heels, too. The world beats your ass enough- don't need to give it another shot at you."
"Yep."
"Aww hell, I'm just helpin' here. Don't need to get all sour." Hank slapped Jack's back. "C'mon, let's go get us a drink."
"They see me as an opportunity to be a good, givin' Christian. Which is why today, we'll be takin' advantage of that fact."
"That's not fair, why would they help you and not me?"
"Fair? Ho, boy. If you're goin' to get all hung up on fair, you might as well just stop right there 'cause you ain't getting far tryin' to make things fair 'round here," Hank said. "Best thing we can do is just work with what's there.
"You got them long scrawny legs, you'll be fine," Hank said.
"Well, look, see, I don't know exactly what you got in mind here, Hank, but I'm on a tight schedule to San Francisco here. I can't be stopping off to start a job somewhere."
"Good, I don't have any plans to begin a job either," Hank said. "Alls I want is a good meal. Help me out with that, and I'll gladly share the uh, the fruits of our efforts with you."
Jack had two distinct, but relatively similar feelings in his gut. One was a feeling of unease and nervousness. The second was the newly-constant feeling of hunger. Both had been Jack's companions on this trip since he started by himself four days prior. At this moment, the pair of feelings were battling in his stomach to assert the dominance of who would control Jack's actions.
"Alright," Jack said.
"Good, we'll get out next stop," Hank said. "Are you a gamblin' man...what's your name again?"
"Jack. Jack Cyrus. And yes, I've played once or twice before."
"Right. Well, what do you say to a few hands to pass the time?"
"Isn't it a little windy in here for that?"
"We'll make do. I'll close this here boxcar door," Hank said. He grunted as he hoisted himself up.
"Okay. Let's play."
After several hands, Jack had taken Hank's full arsenal of cigarettes, his only nudie magazine, and a bruised apple. Hank had won fifty cents.
"Bullshit," Hank said. "If I didn't know better, I'd call bullshit on the last five hands."
"What can I say? Beginner's luck I guess."
"Beginner my ass," Hank said. "Alright, gimme back my cards 'fore you take them too. Train's stoppin' anyhow."
The men gathered their old and new-won belongings, and made their way toward the boxcar door. Hank pulled it open. The chilled wind ran through the boxcar, then settled into a jog. Jack buttoned the top button of his deeply-black pea coat.
"Ready?" Hank asked.
"Yep."
The freight slowed to a near-halt and Hank lept out of the boxcar with a smooth grace unseen in few other of his actions.
Jack's eyes widened and he held his breath.
Go.
His limbs scrunched inward as he formed into a gangly cannonball clutching a suitcase. He landed on his rear and let out an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp.
"That's what you have feet for, boy," Hank said, chuckling.
Jack said nothing, stood, and grabbed the suitcase that had flown from his hands upon impact.
"Never hopped out a freight or what?" Hank asked.
"I have. I just slipped."
"Well next time don't slip. You look like a fool. Try landing on your heels, too. The world beats your ass enough- don't need to give it another shot at you."
"Yep."
"Aww hell, I'm just helpin' here. Don't need to get all sour." Hank slapped Jack's back. "C'mon, let's go get us a drink."
"They see me as an opportunity to be a good, givin' Christian. Which is why today, we'll be takin' advantage of that fact."
"That's not fair, why would they help you and not me?"
"Fair? Ho, boy. If you're goin' to get all hung up on fair, you might as well just stop right there 'cause you ain't getting far tryin' to make things fair 'round here," Hank said. "Best thing we can do is just work with what's there.
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