Saving Sam

The train moved along the winter landscape, its long line of boxcars trailing into the snow drifts. I stood there for awhile then walked back to the corner where Sam was sleeping. I was cold, he was drunk again, and we were all out of food and money.

When I first found him, I thought I’d stumbled across some old hobo. He was curled up against a brick wall in the alley and covered in a gray shawl that smelled like cat piss. I swear I almost gagged when I moved that piece of cloth from his face. If not for the familiar birthmark on his left cheek, I’d have probably walked right past. All the days getting high on the streets had really done a number on him.

“Terry loves me,” Sam said, slurring the words. “My little bro’ has come to save me.”

“What makes you think I give a damn?” I asked, buttoning up his filthy army jacket.

“Because you owe me,” Sam replied, “and because you want to know about the UFO . They all wanna know, but I’m not talkin’. They’ll come back for me if I tell. Do you hear me, Terry!?”

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