Hobo Tough -

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

He wasn't alone. A kid, barely twenty, was huddled in the corner, shivering so hard his teeth sounded like castanets. He was wearing a designer hoodie that might as well have been made of tissue paper.

He stepped off the grainer, his joints popping like dry kindling, and started walking toward the nearest treeline. He wasn't looking for a home; he was just looking for the next fire. hobo tough

It was mid-November in the High Desert. The temperature had plummeted forty degrees in three hours, turning the air into a razor. Artie was hunkered down in an empty grainer car, the kind with the "suicide" porch—a narrow metal ledge that offered no protection from the wind.

When the sun finally cracked the horizon, bathing the desert in a deceptive, pale gold, the train slowed at a siding. The kid crawled out, stiff but alive. He looked at Artie, who was already lighting a hand-rolled cigarette with steady fingers. "How do you do it

Being wasn't about winning fights; it was about outlasting the environment.

"You’re leaking heat, kid," Artie rasped. His voice sounded like gravel in a blender. He was wearing a designer hoodie that might

Should we explore Artie's and what drove him to the rails, or