Plenty a these guys I know from one place er ‘nother. I might a jungled with ‘em er rode with ’em er somethin’. Ya spend enough time on the railroad an’ ya run inta the same guys time an’ again. An’ ya git ta know who’s on the level an’ who ain’t an’ who ta watch out fer an’ who ya c’n trust an’ the like. Ya ride er jungle with a guy fer awhile, an’ ya find out about him.  There’s them that comes an’ goes, might be trampin’ till they find themselves a steady job, ‘an there’s them that’s been on the road thirty, forty years. Ya git ta know ‘em. Ya git ta know their names an’ a little bit about ‘em.

Some guys have themselves a road name ‘cause they don’t want no one ta know who they are er somethin’, an’ some guys git a name on account a somethin’ there is about ‘em, like East Coast Charlie or Okie Fats. Charlie’s from New York City, an’ he use’ ta run that East Coast route, an’ on account a that he got knowed as East Coast Charlie. He don’t run that East Coast route no more. Spends most of his time in the Midwest. Holes up fer the winter in Davenport, washin’ dishes in a rest’rant. But he’s still knowed as East Coast Charlie. Been on the tramp longer ‘n anyone I know. Last year I run into him in Elko, jungled in them willows out west of town. Know him good. Tramps like him is scarce as hen’s teeth.

Now, you take Bigfoot. Got the biggest goddamn feet you ever seen. You’ll run into him sooner er later. Can’t miss him. He don’t jungle in any one partic’lar spot. That lunker sleeps where he falls. He makes a pretty good fish-head stew.

90.