Homeward Bound

He walked out the door with nothing but the clothes he’d worn to the fields that morning.

“Even left them my name,” he said. “Though I suppose they hadn’t much use for that and found another soon enough.”

I held the bottle to the flame to see how much was left and handed it over. Smiling, he took it, drank and handed it back with a nod. Downriver some, the train crossed, its clicking wheels bouncing softly off the water top.

“Hardly a tale, really,” he said. “How’s yours?”

I told him it wasn’t much more than that, and drank.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s