Hobo | Tough

"How do you do it?" the kid asked. "How do you stay out here?"

They lay flat against the freezing floor, Artie using his own heavy wool coat to bridge the gap between them, sharing the meager warmth. He’d survived the Great Flood of '93 and the winter of '08 by knowing exactly how much a human body could take before it broke. hobo tough

Artie showed him the first rule of the rails: He helped the kid stuff the crumpled newsprint down his sleeves, into his boots, and layered against his chest. Paper trapped the air; air trapped the heat. "How do you do it

"You’re leaking heat, kid," Artie rasped. His voice sounded like gravel in a blender. Artie showed him the first rule of the

"I'm... I'm fine," the kid gasped, his fingernails already turning a bruised purple.

Artie didn't argue. He just moved. He didn't have a heater or a thermal blanket. He had a stack of old Sunday Gazettes he’d scavenged in the last yard.