I copied Courtney and the rest in front of me as they shrugged offtheir backpacks and slid them under their chairs, and then followedsuit as they calm...y sat down as if the obstacle course of chairs neverexisted. Isobel and the rest of the tutor group sat down beside me, andthen when the row was full they began to fill up the row behind us.Tiny gusts of wind blew at the back of my head as the other half of thetutor group moved behind me, and then I felt much more than a littlegust of wind as. . , sometimes late at night, in my memory, if I listen closely, I can still hear my dad's soft voice, singing sweet and low, floating languidly, out of that old back bedroom.One of the songs he often used to sing to my siblings and me, which we always loved, was entitled, "Hobo Bill's Last Ride." It was a song about the tragic life of a Hobo named Bill. That song, became my inspiration for this story about another Hobo. The Hobo, the other Railroad Bums used to affectionately call ... Hobo. More

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