The twins start to sniffle and hide their faces.

Dredd sits in the opening, his back turned, legs dangling out of the train. Rattling of steel over steel.

Anne and Cinnamon sit back down, wanting to find some calm. Middle ground. Looking to Canary, Anne pretends Dredd is no longer present, and she asks what Canary’s story is. Where she came from, how she met up with Cinnamon and Dredd.

Canary’s father died when he was late getting home one night. Stopped by the grocery for garlic bread. Her mother had made some Italian dish and forgot the bread. For whatever reason, he wasn’t paying attention to the parking lot. Guy walked up on him. Wanted his wallet, so the police believed. Her dad wouldn’t give it. So the guy whaled on him—a tire iron upside his skull. It was the equivalent of slamming his head into a brick wall, cracking his skull like a boiled egg. After he spent a week in ICU, her mother pulled the plug, and he passed. Insurance money raised her and the twins until Canary couldn’t take it anymore. Her mother went from being a full-time Realtor to a full-time functioning alcoholic. Once, she had cared for her children. Cooked their meals and cleaned their home. But when Canary’s father passed, her mother’s spirit followed. It was broken. Damaged. She no longer cared for anything except her next drink. Red wine was her favorite, but she wasn’t afraid of vodka, either. The bloody Mary was a favorite. Drinking started when the alarm went off. Didn’t stop until she blacked out for the night. Her addiction was consistent. Well maintained, day after day. She sold houses. Stocked the liquor cabinet. Dated men of questionable character who made Canary uncomfortable. Coming into her room at night. Fearing for her brother and sister. She kept reading and watching videos online about train hoppers and their culture, the family structure and freedom they championed. And she made a decision. Late one night, after her mother blacked out, Canary packed them up and off they ran, into the dark. Thumbing a ride to the tracks in Liberty, Kentucky. A small town. Mainly white working-class country folks. Hopping out the Norfolk Southern yard. From there, they learned more and more about hopping trains. Hooking up with different groups, she learned the ropes. She met Cinnamon when switching trains in West Virginia and introduced her to Dredd. Ran with them. Was accepted. Earned her keep with the dumpster dives and panhandling for change. And here she was.

Out the open boxcar door, the scenery was dark like the mood inside the car. With his back turned, Dredd yells, “Those early days, you meant something. You were mine. All mine. Both of you.”

Pulling his legs up, pressing his palms to the wooden floor, he pushes himself up. Turns around and faces everyone.