THE GARBAGE WO/MEN COMETH

Anthony felt good, he had just gotten on a warm train and it felt great against his cold skin. The whiskey bottle in his pocket also added to his warmth. The half-filled bottle told him he had enough to carry him to the end of the line. The opening train doors let the chilly air in and he felt the November bite flow through the holes in his raggedy, blue jeans. Most people looked at him and instantly called him a bum.

African American Literature
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