This is a flash fiction piece, inspired by a prompt by Eric Alagan. The point is to write a 55-word story about a hobo, but never use that word in the story. Go read his as well; it’s really excellent.
This is based on a true story, but since I only know it secondhand, it may not be entirely accurate. Perhaps the person associated with it will read this and let me know. 🙂
I bought him shoes when he passed through town. He didn’t want a home; said he already had one—with an expansive gesture. But the new Reeboks keep him warm and dry.
He sends emails sometimes, when his meandering journey passes a library.
It’s freezing out now. I trust his wits, but I still pray.