It’s never enough, he said. You always want more. Always been that way. More food. More wine. An endless supply of merriment. He laughed. And now. As you lie here. What is it you crave?

A morning train runs through town in darkness. A vagabond was killed the other day when he tried to jump on board. Slip of a foot. A sweaty palm. Legs mangled. A body tossed aside. Soul released.

I remember him, stated the bum. He was a friend of mine. I told him to wait and take the bus across country. Always on the cheap.

He said, no. Said he’d do it the free way. Pay nothing as he had his whole life. Said he’d be in San Francisco by the end of the week. Told me to meet him out there.

Charlie leaves behind an ex-wife, two kids, and a dog named Tex. Carried pictures of them all in his back pocket. He seldom spoke of his past life. A life filled with promise. I was going to be somebody, he said. She had faith in me. I placed mine in the bottle. What I thought was freedom. Was heartbreak.

The man always wanted warmth. Even in summertime, he complained of being cold. Told me his soul was never heated. Just a vacant space. And then he’d pass the wine.

We all took sips. Fast Eddie, Tommy, me, and Charlie, sitting under a bridge at midnight speaking of dreams. Telling each other that soon we’d be gone. Onto the next life. Leaving this one behind. Well, Charlie. Congratulations. You graduated. See you around, pal. Amen.