Tracks Out of Town
He dug through the dumpster. Under a dozen pizza boxes, that kept wanted to avalanche back down, and under a milk crate filled with rotting food he had gotten over the past week he found it. His black coat, zippered pockets closed. He tucked it under his sweaty arm and walked from behind the church. He found a railroad track and walked on it; he wanted to get out as fast as his feet would carry him.
He eyed his right shoe as he walked on the tracks. The rip just about the sole flaked synthetic leather and his black, sweaty sock poked through like a little tide wave with each step.
The green sparkle in the fading sun would have never caught his eye if he had not been watching that dying shoe.
He stopped. Looked behind his shoulder and then also to the left. Then he squatted down. He reached two grimy fingers out to the sparking sliver under the tar-soaked rail tie. It was cold and made the hair on the back of his neck stand. He pulled back his hand and stared.
He dropped his jacket and knelt towards the object. He started prying it free.