Coot stood and patted his clothes. Clouds of dust came from him, lit by the sunlight streaming through the slats of the cattle car. Then he sniffed his clothes. He almost gagged.

Joseph laughed. “Aw, what’s the matter, Coot? Can’t stand the smell of a little cow pie?”

“I’d really like to take a bath.”

“Baths are overrated.”

Joseph replaced the lid on the peanut butter jar and wiped his hands on his coat, leaving peanut-colored streaks. Then he wiped the oily residue in his white hair to give it volume and body. He removed a flask from his vest pocket and took a snort.

“Want some?” he said, offering the bottle to Coot.

Coot refused.

“Suit yourself,” said Joseph. “I’ll have to drink your half for you.” He took one final sip, then replaced the cap. “We’re close to Mobile. I can taste salt in the air.”

“Salt?” said Coot.

“The Gulf. Makes the air salty. Makes everything salty. It makes metal rust and turn into pure nothing too. You ever seen the Gulf?”

“Nope.”

“I envy you, seeing it for the first time.” The old man smiled. “It’s bewitching. It changes a man.”

“How?”

“Well, it’s big and blue, for one. That much blue all at once is a sight to see. It can break your heart.”

Coot looked out the wood slats. He could see a city in the distance, approaching. “Do you think we’ll find work in Mobile?” said Coot.

“Don’t know,” said Joseph. “We always seem to find work somehow. Maybe.”

“Yeah, but not since the war ended. Nobody’s hiring.”

“Barges come in and outta Mobile Bay by the hundreds. They need plenty of strong backs, and you got one.”

“Yeah, well, there are more men than there are jobs. Nobody wants to hire a bum when they can hire a war hero.”

“You worry too much, son.”

“You don’t worry enough.”

They had moved from place to place, working thankless jobs and long hours, since they’d met each other. They had worked turpentine plantations, and they’d picked cotton in Demopolis, peanuts and corn in Senoia. They had manned gang edgers, mill saws, and splitters in Georgia. And Coot had used every bit of elasticity his young lower back ever had. Sometimes he couldn’t sleep through the night because the muscles along his spine would seize up. He’d have to stand upright just to ease the pain.

“You know,” said Joseph. “There are always other ways of making a living.”

“Other ways? Other ways than what?”

“What I mean is, honest work ain’t the only kinda work there is. Not if you’re smart.”

Coot didn’t know how to respond.

Joseph went on. “You might not know this about me, but I’m sorta famous in Charleston.”

“You mean, where you used to play cards with politicians?”