Nobody noticed the disappearances at first. This might seem odd for a small town in the rural South, but for the intersection of two major rail lines, north-south and east-west, which brought transients, freight-hopping hobos, headed south in the winter and elsewhere in the summer. The rail yard, which enveloped this transcontinental interchange, parked and switched freight, human and cargo, as it arrived on the tracks. Hobos camped in the woods. Trails from the rail yard, town, and highways led to the camp. Though it was permanent, its population was not; though its people changed, its character did not. It was a “dog eat dog” world of “might is right”. Consumed by the misery of their lives, men used robbery, theft, and violence as means of survival. Addicts that sought money for another bottle—the next hit–preyed upon the weaker men that were losers at life. Hobos left or disappeared all the time. The others were too busy or obsessed with their problems to care.

The disappearances began among the hobos.

—Power In the Blood, winner of the 2006-2007 P.O.W. award.

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