Tough — Hobo

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.

They lay flat against the freezing floor, Artie using his own heavy wool coat to bridge the gap between them, sharing the meager warmth. He’d survived the Great Flood of '93 and the winter of '08 by knowing exactly how much a human body could take before it broke. hobo tough

Artie exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. "Soft people think toughness is an edge. It’s not. It’s a curve. You learn to bend so the wind goes over you. You learn that 'enough' is a feast, and 'tomorrow' is a luxury." He stepped off the grainer, his joints popping