081413 #worm And there, in the middle of the ruins, sits the troglodytic Barp--abject, hunched over, sobbing unrestrainedly. Ltiky dives into the fire, before he is ready. You always go before you're ready. She's waiting there for him, of course, at the table in the back of the old caboose. She's smoking. God damn it, she's smoking. His face turns red at the prospect of scolding her. He sits down. The tracks clickclack in his ass crack. The scenery washes by oustside, saturated green. One bare light bulb swings in time with the proverbial hobo's lullabye.