Finding

Bear left years ago.

The town wasn’t big enough, fast enough or alive enough. He slipped out one summer’s night, fifty dollars in his pocket with a sweater and a few pairs of socks in his rucksack.

He walked along dirt roads and highways, hitched rides in wagons and cars, stowed away in freight cars and freighters, picked fruit, washed dishes, mopped floors, played a little piano, spent a few nights in jails, some curled up on benches, more in haylofts, and even more under the night’s starry sky.

When he found what he was looking for, he went home.

 

Prompt courtesy of Velvet Verbosity.

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