Beneath a downtown bridge the bottle rolls into the Monongahela watched by two who having spent the day fishing shoot rats and cans with a 22.

There were three platoons. They drove from coast to coast working in kitchens, carnivals and shelters.

The van broke down. They met a man with money and jokes and food.

They fought over the bottle.

She said he had two kids somewhere. Maybe we should tell them he is dead.