Song of the lost

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels beat against the iron tracks, steady as the pulse of the earth itself, as we barreled through fields stretching out to forever. The noonday sun poured down, turning the patches of green and amber into shimmering waves under a sky so blue it'd make your heart ache. Every now and then, a cloud drifted by, its shadow sliding across the land, like a secret whispered between heaven and soil.

Inside the old boxcar, I leaned back against the rough wooden walls, feeling the sawdust and sweat sticking to my skin. The air was thick with the smell of hay and steel, mingling with the tang of the rails and the faint scent of the city up ahead. Sunlight slipped through the cracks in the slats, casting thin lines of gold across the dusty floor--like memories from another time, swaying in the rhythm of the train.

Lyle Rossi sat cross-legged on the floor, as still and solid as a mountain, his harmonica pressed to his lips. The tune that drifted from it was slow and bluesy, the kind of music that comes from long roads and endless skies. His eyes were closed, his big hands moving over the harmonica like they had their own mind. That sound--it wasn't just music. It was somethin' deeper, like it carried all the weight of what we'd left behind and what was still ahead.

Across from him, Sammy O'Conner lounged with his usual grace, one leg kicked out, the other bent at the knee, tapping in time with Lyle's song. His wild curls tumbled over his forehead, and that grin of his, always quick to come, played at the corners of his mouth. Sammy was the joker, always finding a way to lighten things, even when the road seemed endless. He shot Lyle a wink. "Keep it goin', brother. Ain't no rush where we're headed."

"Y'all ever think this ol' boxcar's seen more than we ever will?" I asked, my voice drawling out slow and lazy, like a Georgia afternoon. I shifted against the cool steel wall, feeling the hum of the train deep in my bones. "Storms, sunshine, everything in between. Reckon it's been through it all, just like us."

William Mason, hunched over his banjo, didn't look up from his tuning. He had that calm, detached way about him, like the world might amuse him, but not enough to show it. "More like a rollin' prison, if you ask me," he said, his voice still holding onto that polish he couldn't quite shake, no matter how much dust he'd gathered. He plucked a string, and the note rang out sharp as a bell. "But I'll take this over a stiff-backed stage any day. Out here, ain't no one tellin' me how to play."

I chuckled low, pushing my hat back a little to shield my eyes from the sun sneaking in through the cracks. "Don't forget the open skies," I said, glancing out the side of the boxcar. The land rushed by, but for a moment, it felt like time slowed down, like the whole world was holdin' its breath. "Ain't nothin' like it. All that land, free as a bird."

"Free as a bird till the crowds come callin'," Sammy added, his Irish brogue slipping through as he stretched. His eyes lit up, and he leaned in with that mischievous grin. "Mark my words, Ollie. When we hit the next town, they'll be knockin' down the doors to see us. I'd wager my last dime on it."

I tipped my hat at him. "You'd bet on anything, Sammy. And you'd win too, wouldn't ya?"

"Damn right," he laughed. "And I'd buy us all the best fried chicken from here to Atlanta."

William didn't even look up from his banjo, but he muttered, "Could go for that right about now." His tone was casual, like he wasn't dreamin' about a real meal as much as checking the banjo's strings.

Sammy sat up, rubbing his chin like he was thinkin' hard. "Chicken, aye. But don't forget the biscuits, lad. Can't have chicken without biscuits."

"Or gravy," I said, grinning at the thought. "And that peach pie we had down in Georgia. Damn, that was somethin'."

Sammy's eyes lit up, and he leaned back, laughing. "Aye, Ollie. That pie was heaven."

The train rattled on, the steady clack of the wheels mixing with our voices. Lyle's harmonica had gone quiet, and I glanced over to see him fast asleep, his big frame hardly moving. Even in sleep, Lyle looked like he was carved from stone--steady, unshakable, no matter how the train rocked.

The afternoon stretched out ahead of us, slow and easy, the land slipping by under the wheels. We passed the time with talk of food, towns, and the songs we'd play at the next stop, all of it wrapped up in the kind of laughter that made the miles go by a little faster. It wasn't just talk--it was a promise. A way to keep the road alive, even when the tracks seemed endless.

I picked up my guitar and strummed a few quiet chords. The sun slanted low, casting long shadows across the boxcar floor. A warmth spread through me--not just from the heat, but from somethin' deeper. The music, the miles, the road ahead--it all felt like home.

"This right here," I said softly, tipping my hat over my eyes, "this is the life."

Sammy chuckled, settling beside me, his voice warm with that easy joy. "Aye, Ollie. That it is."

For a moment, the world outside seemed to slow, like it was letting us have this one perfect slice of time. Whatever came next didn't matter. Right here, we'd found a piece of somethin' that felt like home.

Billy reached for his old leather bag, the one that had seen more of the country than any of us. It was scuffed and battered, the kind of thing that looked like it could fall apart at any moment, but always held together just enough to get us by. He dug around in it for a moment, pulling out a mix of a crumpled bill and a handful of coins. His fingers worked quickly, sorting them with that methodical look he always got when it came to money.

I leaned in, watching him, the low rattle of the train filling the gaps between our words. "What do we got, Billy? You reckon it's enough for a decent bite once we hit the next stop?"

Billy didn't look up at first, just kept counting the bills and coins in his hands. After a moment, he let out a breath and looked up, eyes steady. "Not a lot, but not nothin' either. We got enough for a small meal, but we won't be eatin' like kings."

He folded the money and tucked it into his jacket pocket, his fingers still moving as he kept count out loud. "Figure we've got about a dollar twenty-five, maybe a little more if you count the change. That'll get us four sandwiches and a couple cups of coffee, but don't expect any extras."

Sammy raised an eyebrow. "A dollar twenty-five, huh? Ain't much for four grown men, but guess it'll do. Could be worse."

Billy nodded, squinting as he rechecked the pile of coins. "Could be worse. We'll get by, but we ain't splurgin' on pie today."

I chuckled, shifting my weight on the hard floor. "I'll take a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Better than starvin', anyhow."

Lyle, who'd stirred awake just in time, stretched and nodded.

Billy tucked the last of the change into his pocket and gave the bag a final tap to make sure everything was in place. "We'll find a spot at the next town. It won't be fancy, but it'll do. We've had worse."

Sammy grinned, looking out the window at the passing fields. "Aye, maybe we'll even find a pie for dessert."

Billy shot him a look, shaking his head with a small smile. "If we're lucky."

The train clattered on, the rhythm of the wheels a steady beat as we talked, our voices blending with the sound of the tracks beneath us. There was a comfort in the simplicity of it--the miles slipping by, the music of the train, and the knowledge that whatever came next, we'd find a way to get by. Just like always.

William tucked the last of the change into his pocket and gave the bag a final tap, his eyes narrowing as he glanced out the window. The sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows across the land as we rolled through the quiet countryside.

"You know," he said, his voice taking on that sharp edge of his, "if we want a place to lay our heads tonight, we'd better start bringin' in more than sandwiches next performance." He looked over at Sammy, then Lyle, his gaze steady. "We might be able to afford a meal, but come nightfall? Might be sleepin' in the same ol' boxcar again."

Sammy chuckled, not the least bit concerned. "Well, Billy, I ain't exactly allergic to the boxcar. Ain't the worst place we've stayed."

William shook his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Ain't the worst, but it sure ain't the best either. I've had enough of sleepin' with my back to splinters and my face full of dust. I'd rather have a roof over my head tonight. Or at least a bed that don't feel like it's tryin' to swallow me whole."

Lyle let out a grunt of agreement from where he was still half-leaning against the wall, his harmonica resting in his lap.

Billy straightened up, dusting off his pants, his tone serious now. "We ain't in the habit of makin' a whole lotta cash at every stop, but we've got to try harder. We'll be lucky if we get enough to pay for food and a place to sleep, let alone a roof with a bed that don't squeak every time you move."

I nodded, tipping my hat back and letting out a slow breath. "Well, we got tonight to worry about, and after that, we'll see what the next town brings. One way or another, we'll get by."

"Yeah," Billy said, eyeing the road ahead with that same stubborn focus he always had. "But if we want to sleep inside tonight, we better start playing like we're worth it."

Sammy stretched out his legs, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, I'll make 'em think we're worth every penny. Ain't no crowd that can resist the charm of Sammy O'Conner."

Billy snorted, shaking his head, but there was a hint of pride in his smile. "Just make sure you're worth more than the price of a sandwich, Sammy. That's all I'm askin'."

We shared a laugh, the sound of it mixing with the steady hum of the train.

The train groaned as it slowed, the iron wheels screeching against the tracks, coming to a stop at a station that wasn't ours. It was one of those small, nondescript places--just a platform, a couple of weathered buildings, and a few folks milling about, not looking like they had much to do but wait for the next train to pass.

I pulled my guitar from my back and strummed a couple of soft chords, the sound blending with the low hum of the train and the lazy chatter of the few passengers who had gotten off. It was one of those peaceful moments--no hurry, just the world slowing down around us.

Sammy, though, wasn't in any mood to relax. He'd already spotted something--or maybe someone--on the platform, and before any of us could ask what he was up to, he was up on his feet, moving toward Billy.

"Billy, my friend," Sammy said, all charm, flashing that grin of his that could talk a man out of his last nickel. "I'm gonna need a bit of cash. Just a little something to tide me over, y'know?"

Billy raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What are you up to, Sammy?"

"Me?" Sammy's grin grew wider, if that was possible. "Just doin' a little business, that's all. Gotta make sure we're set for the rest of the day, right?"

Billy eyed him for a moment longer, his hand resting on his banjo as if he was considering whether to give in or not. Finally, with a long sigh, he pulled out a crumpled bill, handing it over with a warning in his voice. "This better not be another one of your schemes, Sammy."

"Oh, it won't be," Sammy said with a wink, snatching the cash and already moving toward the door. "I'll be right back. Don't wait up for me."

He darted off the train, leaving us behind with nothing but the sound of his footsteps and a few quiet laughs in his wake. I shook my head, strumming a few more chords.

Billy grunted, not looking entirely pleased. "Just hope he ain't blowin' it all on somethin' silly."

I glanced over at Lyle, who was leaning against the wall with that usual calm stillness of his. Lyle wasn't one for many words--hell, he didn't need 'em--but I could tell by the way his eyes followed Sammy's exit that he wasn't exactly surprised. A small, knowing smile pulled at the corner of Lyle's mouth, and I could almost hear him thinking the same thing I was: Sammy was always up to something.

We waited in silence, the train starting to inch forward again, a low hiss of steam signaling we were about to pull out. I glanced back down the platform, but there was no sign of Sammy. A few seconds passed, then a minute, and still nothing.

"He's gonna be left behind," I muttered, strumming a lazy tune. "Guess he's taking his time."

Billy nodded, glancing at the platform and then back toward me. "He's gonna be runnin' after us like he always does. Same ol' Sammy."

Just as the train was pulling away, I caught a glimpse of Sammy running back down the platform, waving his arms like a madman. He was holding something in his hand--looked like a box of Cracker Jack and a crumpled newspaper.

"Ha!" I laughed. "Told ya."

Billy shook his head, but a grin tugged at his lips. "That boy's got a knack for gettin' into trouble."

Sammy reached the edge of the platform, his steps quickening as he ran alongside the train, trying to catch up. He was yelling something, but it was lost in the noise of the train's engine.

I leaned out the door, holding my hand out to him. "Come on, Sammy! We're not waitin' all day!"

With one final burst of speed, Sammy jumped and grabbed my hand, hauling himself up onto the train just as the last of the platform slipped behind us. He landed with a thud, puffing out a breath like he'd just run a marathon.

"Got it!" he said between gasps, waving the box of Cracker Jack. "Found me a snack--couldn't resist. Y'all don't mind if I share, do ya?"

Lyle let out a low chuckle from his spot by the door, giving Sammy a quick, approving nod.

We all burst into laughter as Sammy grinned, pulling open the box and tossing a handful of Cracker Jack into his mouth. Billy, shaking his head, slapped him on the back. "Can't take you anywhere, Sammy. But at least you got somethin' to show for it."

Lyle's smile widened, a bit of a laugh escaping him as he patted Sammy on the back, his giant hand almost swallowing Sammy's smaller frame. Lyle didn't need to say much. "Hot dog pal" Sammy broke into a laugh.

"Hey," Sammy said, tossing a few more Cracker Jack into his mouth and winking, "all that talk about food got me hungry. I wasn't about to let this train leave me empty-handed."

"Just remember," Billy added, his tone shifting to the serious side of his usual swagger, "that's your meal, then. Till we get more cash."

The laughter froze for a beat. We all stared at Sammy, and then--one by one--it hit us: Billy hadn't exactly thought this through.

Sammy blinked, his grin faltering for a second. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah," Billy added with a shrug, as if he'd just laid down the law. "You're gonna make that box last. Don't come cryin' to me when the next town don't have anything better."

Lyle gave a low chuckle, his lips curling into a soft smile.

"Guess Sammy's got a taste for sweet things now," I said, tipping my hat back with a grin.

Everyone laughed, and Sammy, looking between the box and us, rolled his eyes dramatically. "Well, I was gonna share, but if I'm gettin' stuck with this as the only option..."

"You can always trade it for a sandwich in the next town," Billy teased, but his eyes were already glinting with amusement.

Sammy groaned, but the smile broke through anyway. "That's real generous of you, Billy."

We kept laughing as the train rumbled on, the sound of Sammy's half-chewed words mingling with our easy chatter. It wasn't the first time Sammy had pulled a stunt like that, and it sure wouldn't be the last.

The train gave one final lurch, iron wheels scraping like nails against a washboard, and we rolled into the station. The sun hung low, casting a hazy amber glow over the town. It wasn't quite dark yet, but dusk was creeping in, the kind that turns the sky all shades of purple and pink, like the earth's been dipped in watercolor. I leaned against the door of the train, tipping my hat back as I took in the scene.

The town wasn't much, not at first glance. A mining town, you could tell by the layer of dust clingin' to everything and the way the folks walked, shoulders set low like they'd been carryin' weight all their lives. But it wasn't poor, either. No, this place had its own kind of rhythm--slow but steady, like a heart that didn't miss a beat. Brick buildings with faded paint lined the main street, the kind that hadn't been repainted in years but still stood strong. A few men in flat caps and suspenders leaned against a lamppost, chatting, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, while women in long skirts shuffled by, baskets in hand, heading home from market.

Billy, as usual, was the first to jump off the train, his feet hitting the wooden platform with a satisfying thud. "Ain't this just a sight," he muttered, his Mid-Atlantic accent tinged with that Southern lilt he picked up along the way. "Feels like we just stepped into a dime novel."

Sammy was next, swinging his guitar case over his shoulder. He spotted a pair of girls walkin' past, skirts swishing against the dirt road, their giggles cutting through the early evening air. He winked at them, flashing his easy grin. "Evenin', ladies," he drawled, tipping his hat. The girls giggled again, quickening their pace, but one threw a glance over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed, and I couldn't help but shake my head. Sammy was always like that--never missed a chance.

I grabbed my own guitar, slingin' it over my back, and followed the boys off the train. The air was thick with the smell of coal and sweat, but somewhere, faintly, I caught the scent of fresh bread. It was the kind of town that wore its scars proudly, rough around the edges but not without its charms. Storefronts lined the street, their wooden signs hangin' above the doorways, swayin' slightly in the breeze. There was a barbershop with an old red-and-white striped pole outside, a general store with sacks of flour stacked by the door, and across the street, a post office with its windows wide open to let in the cool evening air.

Billy turned to me, eyes twinklin' like he was already schemin'. "Ollie, you ready to grab a bite? I reckon there's a place around here that'll suit us just fine."

I gave him a nod, my stomach growling at the thought of food. We hadn't eaten since early morning, and the thought of something cool and sweet didn't sound half bad. "Lead the way."

We walked further down the street, passin' a couple of miners covered in soot, their faces grim but not unkind. The town had that busy-but-not-busy feel, like everyone knew where they were goin', but nobody was in a rush to get there. We turned the corner, and there it was--the ice cream parlor.

It wasn't much to look at, not on the outside. A small wooden building tucked between a bakery and a dry goods store. The sign above the door read Penny's Parlor, letters faded and chipped but still legible, with a hand-painted cone underneath. The windows were fogged up, but through the glass, I could see a couple of booths inside, the kind with cracked leather seats, and a counter lined with glass jars filled with candies and sweets.

Billy strode right up to the door, and we followed him in. The bell above the door jingled as we stepped inside. The place was dimly lit, the smell of vanilla and sugar hangin' heavy in the air. Behind the counter stood a wiry man with slicked-back hair and round spectacles, his apron dusted with flour. He glanced up as we walked in, his eyes narrowing a bit like he was sizing us up.

Billy leaned casually on the counter, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Evenin', friend. I'm lookin' for somethin' a bit... special," he said, his voice smooth as butter, that charm of his practically oozing out.

The clerk didn't blink, just stared at Billy with a practiced calm. "What kinda special are you after?"

Billy didn't miss a beat. "I believe the phrase you're lookin' for is we're friends of Mr. White."

The clerk's eyes flickered, just for a second, and then he gave a small nod. "Give me a moment." He glanced around, making sure no one else was lookin', then motioned us to follow him toward the back of the shop. My heart beat a little faster, the excitement of it all settling in.

We walked through a narrow hallway, past a door marked Storage, and he stopped in front of another door, this one unmarked. The clerk knocked twice, a rhythm I didn't recognize, and the door creaked open just enough for us to slip through.

Inside, the room was dark, save for a few low-lit lamps casting a golden glow over the space. Tables were scattered around, men and women in fine clothes sittin' in groups, cigars smokin' in their hands, soft jazz playin' in the background. This wasn't just a parlor. This was a whole other world tucked behind a door, and we were right in the middle of it.

Billy turned to me, that grin still plastered on his face. "Now, Ollie, I think we're in for a fine night."

Billy and I exchanged a look, the kind that needed no words. We'd done this enough times to know the drill--set up, play the tunes, get the folks loosened up, and maybe earn ourselves a decent meal or a place to sleep.

"Let's get to it," I muttered, sliding my guitar off my back. Billy already had his banjo case open, fingers dancing across the strings like he was itching to start.

Sammy and Lyle, on the other hand, were less focused on the music at the moment. The minute we walked in, Sammy's eyes had locked onto a group of well-dressed women sittin' by the far corner, their laughter lilting through the smoky air like it was meant for him. Lyle followed his lead, his usually quiet demeanor loosening with the soft lighting and the promise of a good time.

"Y'all just gonna leave us to do all the work?" Billy called after them, his voice dripping with that playful sarcasm he was so good at.

Sammy just waved him off, winking at one of the ladies as he grabbed a couple of glasses from the bar. "We'll be back in two shakes, boys. Gotta make our rounds, you know how it is," he said, flashing that signature grin.

Lyle chuckled under his breath, leaning against the bar as he ordered a whiskey. He wasn't much for words, but he had a way of drawin' folks in with that quiet, brooding charm of his. The girls were already smilin' his way, gigglin' like schoolgirls as he threw them one of his rare, shy smiles.

Meanwhile, Billy and I took the stage--or what passed for a stage, really. It was more of a cleared-out corner near the back, with just enough space for us to stand and set up our instruments. I started tuning my guitar, the familiar, comforting twang of the strings settling my nerves. Billy plucked at his banjo, his fingers flying effortlessly across the frets, the sound blending with the low hum of conversation in the room.

"Looks like a good crowd tonight," I said, glancing out at the room.

Billy nodded, his eyes flicking across the tables, taking in the men in their pressed suits and the women in their long dresses. "Yeah, and if we play it right, might even make a few friends here. Hell, if Sammy doesn't flirt us into trouble first."

I chuckled. "He's got that look in his eye tonight, for sure."

After a few minutes of settin' up, Billy gave me the nod. I strummed a chord, testing the sound, and it rang out clear and steady. But before we could start, Billy cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered across the room. "Sammy! Lyle! Get your sorry hides over here before we start without ya!"

Sammy, in the middle of makin' the ladies laugh, caught Billy's eye and threw up his hands in mock defeat. "Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist," he called back, downing the rest of his drink before sauntering over. Lyle followed a bit more reluctantly, but he couldn't resist the pull of the music for long.

As they joined us, the room began to shift. The murmurs of conversation quieted, folks turning their attention toward the corner where we stood. The mood shifted from casual to expectant, like everyone was waiting for somethin' to happen, somethin' special.

I glanced over at Sammy, who grabbed his guitar and gave me a wink, his usual swagger returning as he strummed a couple of notes. Lyle, harmonica in hand, gave a small nod. The tension of the day, the travel, the dust from the road--it all fell away when we got ready to play.

Billy counted us in, his foot tapping against the floorboards, and we launched into the first song. The music filled the room like a soft breeze after a hot day, the kind that makes folks sit up and pay attention. My fingers moved across the strings, feelin' the rhythm, the ebb and flow of the melody. Billy's banjo danced alongside, quick and sharp, while Sammy laid down the rhythm with his guitar, and Lyle's harmonica hummed like a gentle whisper in the night.

The crowd leaned in, some nodding along with the beat, others tappin' their feet under the table. The room came alive, the music weaving through the air, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only thing that mattered in that dimly lit parlor.

We played a few more tunes, the songs blending together in that effortless way they always did when we were in sync. The crowd cheered and clapped after each one, a few men at the back even throwin' a couple of coins onto the floor at our feet. As the night rolled on and the speakeasy filled with a haze of smoke and conversation, I kept my eyes on the strings, letting the music flow through me. The dim lights flickered over the crowd, casting long shadows across faces flushed with the buzz of jazz and whiskey. My fingers moved instinctively over the guitar, the sound of Lyle's harmonica weaving in and out like a river current.

But as I played, I caught a glimpse of her in the crowd--a woman, seated just a few tables back, her eyes locked on me. She had dark, bobbed hair that framed her face, and the kind of smile that could make a man forget where he was. She held her drink loosely, tilting it toward me in a slow, deliberate gesture as her lips curled in the faintest smirk. I couldn't help but notice the way her gaze lingered, a knowing look in her eyes like she'd seen right through me, past the music, past the stage.

She leaned forward, her elbow resting on the table as she let out a soft laugh, clearly enjoying herself. When our eyes met again, she raised her glass slightly, an invitation in her gesture, and I felt a rush of heat climb up the back of my neck. For a moment, I faltered, my fingers hesitating on the fretboard as the temptation to give in to the moment hit me like a wave.

But I shook it off, forcing myself back into the rhythm. The music was all that mattered right now. I kept my focus on the strings, refusing to be pulled away by the glint in her eyes or the way she seemed to beckon me with every glance.

Billy, standing beside me, caught on, giving me a quick smirk, but he didn't say anything. He just kept playing, the song growing louder and more feverish as the crowd roared with approval. I let the music take hold again, drowning out everything else--the noise of the crowd, the heat of the room, even her.

I couldn't let myself get distracted, not tonight. There was too much on the line, and the music was my anchor, the one thing that kept me grounded in the swirling chaos of it all. So I stayed with it, letting the melody wrap around me, and ignored the way her gaze lingered just a little too long.

As we wrapped up the final song, the room buzzed with energy, the warmth of the music lingering in the air long after the last note faded. Sammy, always the showman, gave a dramatic bow, sweeping his hat off his head with a flourish. The ladies in the corner giggled, and he shot them another wink before turning back to us.

"Well, fellas," he said, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, "looks like we've got ourselves a fine night after all."

Billy grinned, slingin' his banjo back over his shoulder. "Not bad, not bad at all. Now let's see if we can't charm our way into some supper."

As the applause died down and the room returned to its low murmur, I couldn't help but feel that familiar sense of satisfaction wash over me. The music had done its job, and we'd found our place here, if only for a night.

As the clock struck midnight, the mood in the speakeasy shifted. Another band took to the small stage, their jazz-heavy tunes filling the room with a different kind of rhythm. We gathered in the far corner, the dim light casting long shadows across the worn table where we'd been posted up most of the night.

Billy gave a quick look around, then motioned for Lyle to cover the table with his big frame. "Alright, Lyle, make yourself useful. Keep this quiet while I count the spoils."

Lyle gave a slight nod and leaned forward, his broad shoulders blocking the view as Billy pulled out the small sack of coins and bills we'd earned. With quick hands, Billy started sorting through the money, his sharp eyes tallying it up under his breath.

"Man, would ya look at that," Sammy whistled low, eyes wide as the pile grew larger with each handful. "These mining towns always treat us right. I swear, they're just itchin' to throw money at anything that takes their minds off the dust."

"I love mining towns," I muttered with a grin, running a finger over the edge of my guitar case. It was a good haul, no doubt about it.

Billy finished counting and quickly packed the money back into a small cloth bag. "Alright, boys, let's not get too carried away. We earned this fair and square, but that don't mean it's time to blow it all at once. We still got a lot of miles to go."

He tightened the strings around the bag, tucking it into his coat. "Now, the big question," he said, standing and lookin' around at the lot of us. "Where we sleepin' tonight?"

I could already sense what was comin' as he glanced between us, each face lit up by the dim glow of the parlor's last-standing light. Sammy grinned, leaning back in his chair with a dramatic sigh.

"Well, I reckon the train's as good a bed as any," he said, with a carefree shrug. "Ain't nothing like the gentle rockin' of the rails to put a man to sleep."

"Not this time," Billy shot back. "I want a bed. A real bed, with a pillow that doesn't smell like yesterday's sweat. What do you say, Ollie?"

I glanced over to where the train was barely visible outside the speakeasy window, puffing lazy plumes of smoke into the night air. "Honestly, I'm too tired to care," I said with a grin. "But if I had to choose, I think I'm leanin' toward the train."

"Figures," Billy laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, let's take a vote."

Hands went up--mine for the train, Lyle quietly followed suit, and Sammy, of course, grinned like the devil as he raised his hand. Billy groaned, realizing he was outnumbered. "Fine, fine," he said, "but don't come cryin' to me when your back feels like it's been through a wringer come morning."

With that settled, we made our way out of the speakeasy and into the cool night air. The town was quiet now, save for the occasional dog barking in the distance or the faint sounds of someone lockin' up shop. As we walked, the train stood like a waiting beast, steam still curling up into the dusky sky. Its dark, metallic frame loomed large in the distance, the only sign of life in an otherwise sleepy town.

We ambled toward it, but as soon as we got within a few paces, the train whistle blew sharp and loud. I froze. "Oh hell--she's about to roll out!"

Billy shot me a panicked look. "Run, Ollie!"

And just like that, we were off, boots hittin' the ground in a mad scramble as we made for the nearest door. Sammy, laughing like a maniac, dashed ahead of us, with Billy not far behind. My heart pounded in my chest as I sprinted toward the train, the clattering wheels already groaning to life.

I barely made it, leaping up onto the last car with a grunt just as it started to pick up speed. Billy was right on my heels, breathin' hard as he grabbed the handrail, hauling himself aboard. Sammy, of course, had already found a seat and was laughing like a wild man as Lyle, who somehow still managed to keep his calm, brought up the rear.

We collapsed into the nearest empty compartment, the adrenaline still rushing through our veins. The train rocked us gently as it picked up speed, the landscape outside slipping away into the shadows of the night. I wiped a bit of sweat from my forehead, laughing softly as I tried to catch my breath.

"Well, boys," Billy panted, "we made it. But we didn't think about one thing."

"What's that?" Sammy asked, still grinning.

"We didn't get any damn food."

There was a brief silence as the realization sank in. I could hear the rumble of my stomach already, the long day finally catching up to me.

But before anyone could complain, Lyle, who'd been silent as usual, calmly reached into his coat and pulled out a cloth-wrapped parcel. He unwrapped it slowly, revealing a collection of fresh bread, cured meats, and even a block of cheese.

We all stared at him in disbelief. Billy was the first to speak. "Lyle, where the hell did you get that?"

Lyle gave a slow smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He shrugged, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Didn't spend a dime," he said quietly.

Billy shook his head, laughing under his breath. "You sneaky bastard."

Sammy was already reaching for the food. "Lyle, you're a damn hero."

We tore into the food like a pack of starving wolves, the sounds of the train fading into the background as we ate. The bread was fresh, the cheese sharp, and the meat salty and satisfying--far better than anything we'd had in a long while. For a moment, it didn't matter that we were back on the train, or that our backs would ache in the morning.

We were together, a little richer than when we'd started, and we had a good meal. That was enough.

A few hours passed, and the train rolled steadily through the night, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels a constant lullaby. The others had long since drifted off, sprawled across the seats and benches of our compartment. Sammy was snoring softly, his head tilted back against the wall, and Billy, who'd fought sleep for as long as he could, had finally succumbed, his hat tipped low over his face. Lyle was leaned up against the window, his face peaceful, one arm hanging loosely by his side.

But sleep hadn't come for me. It wasn't from lack of exhaustion--I was bone tired--but something in the air kept me awake, that kind of quiet that has a certain melody all its own.

I sat by the open window, my guitar resting on my knee, fingers absentmindedly strumming at the strings. The cool night breeze swept in, carrying the scent of pine and earth, and beyond the train's steady chug, I could hear nature's music--crickets chirping, the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of trees bending in the wind.

I let my fingers play lightly over the frets, finding chords that echoed the mood of the night. It was a soft, wandering melody, one that seemed to float on the air, blending with the sounds of the world outside. It wasn't a song yet, just fragments of thoughts and feelings, drifting along with the sway of the train.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale silver light over the rolling hills we passed, the fields stretching out like shadows beneath the darkened sky. I could just make out the outline of the trees along the tracks, their branches swaying gently as if they too were humming along to the tune.

As I played, lyrics started to form in my mind--something about the road, about leaving and never knowing where you'll end up. About the spaces in between the towns, those quiet moments when it's just you and the night.

A line slipped into my thoughts, and I mumbled it under my breath, testing how it sounded with the chords.

"Ain't no place for the restless soul... just the tracks that call me home."

I hummed the words quietly, repeating them in a slow, steady rhythm, letting the melody grow around them. The more I played, the more the night seemed to come alive, the noises outside becoming part of the song.

I paused for a moment, leaning my head back against the window frame and staring out into the dark. It was in these quiet moments that the weight of the road hit me hardest--the endless journey, the search for something that always seemed just out of reach.

I glanced over at my friends, fast asleep and at peace for now, and a small smile crept across my lips. We didn't have much, but we had each other, and that counted for something. In the end, it was all we really needed.

I started playing again, my fingers moving lightly over the strings as the train carried us further into the night. And for a little while longer, I let the music take me somewhere else--somewhere where the road wasn't so long, and the nights weren't so quiet.

As I played, my gaze drifted out the open boxcar door, the world outside slipping by in a slow, shadowed blur. The moonlight bathed the rolling plains in a soft glow, and for a moment, it felt like time had slowed, like we were riding through some forgotten land where nothing but the wilds ruled.

The train passed through a wide stretch of open land, and my eyes caught movement in the distance. At first, it was just the faintest flicker, but then I saw them--buffalo, a whole herd, dark shapes moving across the plains like shadows come to life. They galloped in the same direction as the train, their powerful bodies moving in rhythm with the beat of my guitar. For a second, I could almost feel the ground tremble beneath their hooves, even over the rumble of the tracks.

There was something timeless about it, like we were riding through a piece of the past. Buffalo had grown scarce these days, but every now and then, in these untouched corners of the land, you'd still find them. It felt like a glimpse of something ancient, something untamed that the world hadn't managed to hold on to.

A coyote's howl echoed from somewhere in the distance, sharp and haunting, blending with the night's song. A few stars twinkled overhead, scattered like forgotten diamonds across the deep indigo sky, and somewhere far off, an owl called out, its low hoot carried on the wind.

I sat there, strumming quietly, watching the buffalo fade into the night, their dark forms swallowed by the vast horizon. We were miles from anywhere, yet somehow, the world still felt alive, humming with the quiet energy of creatures unseen but ever present.

There was a kind of peace in it all--a reminder that even out here, in the middle of nowhere, life went on, wild and free. As I played, my music fell in line with that rhythm, as though the train, the land, and I were all part of the same quiet journey, riding side by side through the night.

The train clattered along the tracks, the rhythmic hum filling the stillness of the night. The others were asleep, sprawled out in the corners of the boxcar, their breath steady and deep. I sat by the open door, the cool night air brushing my face as I played, strumming my guitar quietly in the dark. The moon hung low in the sky, a pale crescent casting a soft glow across the land as the train snaked through the vast, empty plains. The world outside was still, except for the occasional rustle of grass and the sound of creatures moving in the distance. I imagined there might be deer or wild horses, or maybe even buffalo, their large shapes disappearing into the dark.

But my mind kept drifting back to her.

The woman from the speakeasy.

Her eyes had locked on mine in that dim, smoke-filled room, and for a moment, it felt like time slowed down. She had this quiet, confident way about her, something that stood apart from the usual crowd of flappers and gamblers. She'd smiled at me, almost knowingly, as though she could see right through me. There was a kind of invitation in that smile, but I'd turned my attention back to the music, back to the rhythm, as I always did.

Now, out here, alone in the dark, I couldn't help but wonder what it would've been like to walk over to her table. To just stop playing for a minute, set the guitar down, and see where that moment could've gone. But instead, I'd stayed lost in the music. It's what I always did. And even now, as I let my fingers move across the strings, I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I was missing something.

I leaned my head back against the boxcar, letting the soft wind brush through my hair. It was a funny thing, this life we led. So consumed with the music, with the next show, the next song, the next train ride, that I couldn't remember the last time I'd taken a moment to really be in the world, to stop and enjoy anything beyond the sound of my own guitar. Maybe it wasn't the road that was wearing me down, or the constant shuffle of towns. Maybe it was the fact that I kept myself wrapped up in the music, like it was the only thing that mattered.

I glanced out into the vast, dark expanse, watching the shadows stretch over the land, and for the first time in a while, I wondered what it would be like to let go. To let the music take a back seat and experience something else--something real.

But I was no closer to figuring it out.

The train jolted as it hit a small bump in the tracks, and I played a soft, mournful chord, the sound hanging in the air for a moment before it was swallowed by the night. I closed my eyes, letting the wind carry the sound away. Tomorrow would be the same as today. Another town, another crowd, another performance. But for tonight, I couldn't help but feel like something had slipped by me. Something I couldn't quite touch.

With a sigh, I set the guitar aside and pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders, trying to quiet my thoughts. The others were still asleep, but I couldn't shake the feeling that, somewhere out there, a piece of me was waiting. A piece that wasn't bound by the music, the train, or the road.

But until I figured out what that piece was, I'd keep playing until sleep took me.

The sun was high when I finally shook the grogginess out of me the next day. I'd fallen asleep to the rhythmic clatter of the train, and now, waking up, the world outside had that midday haze to it. Sammy was just stretching, yawning like a bear, and William was already handing out lunch sacks, calling us over.

"Lunch time, fellas," William said with a grin, tossing me a bag. "You all get a good rest?"

Lyle gave his silent nod, taking the meal without a word, his quiet presence as steady as always.

Sammy stretched and cracked his neck with a satisfied groan. "Best nap I've had in ages. Can't beat the comfort of a boxcar, man. This life... it's good for the soul, y'know?"

William chuckled, handing Sammy his sack of food. "If we're lucky, maybe we'll find a spot that feels like home tonight."

I couldn't help but mutter, "Home, huh? That's a laugh."

Sammy flashed me a grin. "Well, I reckon this'll do us some good. They've got food, beds, and a roof--can't ask for much more."

Billy threw in his two cents, "At least we won't be sleeping on the ground this time."

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself. These guys... they knew how to make the best of things, no matter how rough the road.

Sammy leaned in close with a mischievous look. "So, Ollie," he said, eyeing me, "you know where we're headed next?"

I shot him a flat look. "Not a clue, but I'm sure you'll tell me eventually."

Billy smirked and exchanged a quick look with Sammy. "Oh, it's a small town. Real quiet. Not much happening. You'll like it."

I glanced between them, sensing the tease. "Real quiet, huh? One of those towns where the highlight of the day is watching the dust settle? Or--"

"Guess you'll find out soon enough," Sammy interrupted, all too pleased with himself.

Lyle, who'd been quiet as usual, finally spoke, his voice calm and deliberate. "Your hometown."

I blinked, the words catching me off guard. My hometown?

Billy laughed loudly, clapping me on the back. "At least your folk will give us a bed!"

"Meals too," Sammy added with a grin. "A real home-cooked meal."

I couldn't keep the dry chuckle from escaping. "Meals, a bed... I reckon we're all set then."

William, ever the steady one, added, "No gig this time, but we'll figure something out. We always do."

I leaned against the doorframe, watching the landscape roll by. "In good ol; Texas huh?"

The train slowed to a creak and hiss as we all stepped off, the dry heat of the midday sun washing over us. I squinted into the dusty street of my hometown, and, just like that, the familiar feeling settled in. The town hadn't changed a bit. Same weathered buildings, same cracked sidewalks, the air heavy with the scent of dried hay and wood. Everything looked like it had been preserved in amber, locked in time.

"Nothing's changed," I muttered under my breath as I glanced around. Sammy nodded, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Same old place. Small, dusty, but I reckon we'll make it work." He grinned and shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked past me. "Maybe we can find us a good meal for once."

I didn't respond. The old ache in my chest was still there, despite the distance I'd put between me and this town. I couldn't help but glance at the old storefronts, the faded signs, the homes I'd passed on my way out when I was younger. They felt... different now.

We walked down the street, boots kicking up dust as the town buzzed with its usual quiet hum. A couple of farmers milled about, heads down, going about their business. I was half-expecting someone to shout my name, but no one seemed to notice us--until we came upon the Bramble General Store.

It sat at the corner, the same wooden sign hanging lazily over the door. My chest tightened. That store. It was my family's. My mother ran it now, and she always had. It felt like the place hadn't aged a day either.

We all stepped inside, the bell above the door ringing with a soft jingle. The familiar scent of oil, fresh bread, and aged wood hit me instantly, but the store was quiet--no one behind the counter, just shelves stacked high with goods and the creak of floorboards underfoot.

We hadn't even made it past the counter when I heard her voice.

"Well, well, well..." My mother's voice echoed from the back of the store, and before I could turn, there she was. She stepped into view, looking just as I remembered. A little older, a little more worn, but her smile still had that same warmth. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, but there were streaks of silver now that weren't there when I left.

It took a second for her to realize who was standing there--at first, her eyes flicked over us, confused--but then she froze. Her eyes went wide, and she rushed forward.

"Oliver?" Her voice cracked a little as she reached me. I could see the excitement bubbling up in her. "Good Lord, it's been so long!"

I didn't know whether to laugh or sigh, but I felt a wave of relief wash over me as she wrapped me in a tight hug, almost knocking the wind out of me. Her hands were soft, but her touch was firm, like she never expected to see me again.

I stepped back, swallowing hard, and gestured toward the other guys. "Ma, you remember the fellas --"

Her eyes grew even wider. "Sammy? Lyle? And Little Billy?" She looked them up and down, smiling so brightly it could light up the room. "I can't believe it's you boys! My word, you've all grown up so much... and I swear, your clothes--goodness, are you all looking after yourselves?" She looked at us with a disapproval look.

Billy flashed her a grin, leaning against the counter in his usual charming way. "We do alright, Mrs. Bramble. Still got a bit of the ol' wanderer spirit, y'know?"

Sammy added, raising an eyebrow, "And we could sure use a meal, ma'am. Been a long road, and I reckon a good bite wouldn't hurt."

My mom's gaze softened as she sized up the group. "You always did know how to charm an old woman," she said with a chuckle.

"Seems like the only kinda of women Sammy can charm" Billy chimed in. Sammy punched William in the arm.

Miss.Bramble shook her head disapproving as she broke up the fight between Sammy and William. "I'll get something ready for you all in a minute, but let me think..." She turned her eyes to me again. "We've got rooms, but they're in the barn. There's hay for bedding--nothing fancy, but it'll keep you off the ground. Why don't you boys grab a snack and head there now. While I talk to Oliver"

"Works for us," Billy said, winking at Sammy. Sammy chuckled, but I could tell he wasn't all that disappointed. The barn wasn't so bad. Better than a train or a cold street corner.

The door jingled softly as Billy, Lyle, and Sammy left, their laughter fading as they headed toward the barn. The store settled into a quiet hum, leaving just me and Ma. I caught sight of an old flyer on the wall behind her, yellowed with age. "The Midnight Rhapsody" was scrawled across it, a reminder of the start we all took together. There were a few pinned up in a row, each marking our evolution from teenage boys with wild dreams to men living those very dreams.

Ma's gaze followed mine to the flyers, and she smiled warmly. "You were just kids back then," she said, walking over to straighten one of the flyers, her fingers lingering on the corner of a faded one from when we were barely old enough to leave town. "Now look at ya--all grown up, still chasing that music."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Guess I never learned how to stop."

She turned to face me, hands on her hips, a tender smile playing at her lips. "You've got a good heart, Oliver. Always did. I knew from the minute you picked up that guitar, you weren't gonna stay put for long. But I just need to know you're not gettin' lost in it all. You always did have a way of sinking too deep into that music."

I shrugged, trying to brush off the concern in her voice. "Music's what keeps me goin', Ma. Keeps me grounded."

She sighed, walking over and giving my cheek a gentle pat. "Grounded, sure. But you also gotta live, Oliver. There's more to life than just the road and those songs. Don't forget to stop and write home every now and then."

I smiled, feeling a tug of warmth at her words. "I'll write more. Promise."

Ma's eyes softened as she looked me over, like she was seeing through me, past the years on the road. "Have you met anyone? A nice girl to settle down with?"

I shook my head, chuckling. "No one yet. Ain't been much time for that."

She raised an eyebrow knowingly. "Well, when the right girl comes along, you'll know it. Just like when you know a song's finished. It'll be clear as day."

I leaned against the counter, letting her words sink in. Ma always had a way of cutting right to the heart of things. I hadn't given much thought to a girl lately, too caught up in the rush of performing and moving from town to town, but something about what she said made me pause. Maybe there was more I hadn't been paying attention to.

"Yeah," I murmured, "maybe I'll know."

She smiled at that, patting my hand before stepping back. "Just remember, there's always room for you here, even if it's just for a night. Now, go on and catch up with your friends. I'll have something hot waiting when you come back."

Oliver leaned in, wrapping his arms around his mom and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "I'll try to write more, Ma. I promise."