will Writing Assignment 2 Final draft

As I watch the sun drip down the rail road tracks like honey my mind wanders. My consciousness drifts away like heat off the pavement in this hazy August afternoon. Green vines wrap around the blocks of wood covered in miles of steel. I am a day dreamer. I dream of past places and times and I dream of the future. I’m waiting for a train headed south. Actually, for all I know it could be headed straight up to Canada. What I do know is that it’s sure as hell not here. Not this small town where train tracks haunt me everywhere I go or where I see my former life in everything. It’s not here and I’m fine with that.
There is something about train tracks that always gets to me. When I hear a train rumbling by I think of freedom, moving on. Sometimes I wish I could just pack my life into a bag and hop on one of those trains. Find a new a town, a new place where I can be whoever I want to be. And here I am. I’m gonna hit the road and go wherever the powers that be take me.
The hobo lying on the bench to the right of me reeks of BO and alcohol mixed with a smell of what I would imagine as “restlessness”. His face is pinkish with a scruffy, short beard and patchy brown hair. He awakes abruptly.
“Where you headed, man?” he says to me.
His age is impossible to tell, possibly late middle-ages. Old enough for him to have had a previous life.
“I’m not quite sure, I’m just getting out of here.” I tell him.
“Hah, I sure know where you’re comin’ from.” He replies in a husky, cigarette voice. He notices my guitar case close at hand. “Play me some music man, I’ve had a long day…”
He goes on to tell me about his “long day” (his dog runs away, loses his cigarettes in a bet etc.). I don’t really need to get into it. As I pull out my beautiful honey-burst guitar along with my harmonica he asks me to play a song about a train. I immediately recognize the sentimental value of this and start up “Slow train coming”.
“I had a woman down in Alabama,She was a backwoods girl, but she sure was realistic,She said, "Boy, without a doubt, have to quit your mess and straighten out,You could die down here, be just another accident statistic."There's a slow, slow train comin' up around the bend.”
My attempt at a Bob Dylan drawl sounds more like a washed up Neil Young but I pull it off.
“That’s some intense stuff, man” He says as silent tears drop like feelings kept to himself.
That was flattering, honestly. I go on to play “Serve Somebody”. I’m no evangelist but I know how to work a crowd.
“It might be the devil
It might be lord
But you gotta serve somebody”
In the middle of the second verse the music is overcome by the sounds of moaning steel coming to a halt. He apparently has decided to rest a little bit longer in his spot under the Amtrack sign and we part are ways. I shake his hand and climb aboard the south bound train with my guitar, harmonica, and a backpack full of an extra pair of jeans, boxers, and plenty of flannel shirts.