He spent that night alone in a rusted boxcar, his tired eyes stared absentmindedly at its tarnished walls as he stagnantly lay there drown by memories of a life much simpler. Every so often a train would roll through the station, its single eye of light cutting through the fog would cause him to slip back to reality, he did not stay long here, only a couple seconds maybe. His leathery hands search the dark for a half empty bottle beside his hip, upon its finding he clenches it desperately then takes only a sip of heart wrenching whiskey before returning to a mindless state. He is alone like a wolf who has lost it's pack, he’s always been alone hunting ceaselessly for something better. Never will he realize how much this hurts him.