A picture from my early hobo days. Here I am next to Old Ninety-Eight, the Express Special.
Carefully eluding the "bulls," or railway police, the hobo leaps onto a running train and into a car. If he's lucky, there'll be a few of his "road pals" there to share the long journey. Everything belongs to everyone in the hobo's world, and a shared car meant sharing whatever you had: orange Pez, Space Sticks, even the marshmallows from a box of Lucky Charms. Some bums were there for the short haul, while others would ride the Special all the way up to the swingsets, or, if the police didn't catch them, to the sandbox near the slides.