Spit, Fire! Spout, Rain!
@spitfirespoutrain.bsky.social
Serial novel in posts mainly about members of the unhoused community in Lawrence, Kansas, (#LFK).
A wave of deja vu splashed over him. The burning calf muscle, the darkness, he had been there and done that, done this. The train yelled once and then twice, and he could never catch it, not like that. He hobbled toward the track. He would not go back, could not go back.
December 29, 2025 at 10:17 PM
A wave of deja vu splashed over him. The burning calf muscle, the darkness, he had been there and done that, done this. The train yelled once and then twice, and he could never catch it, not like that. He hobbled toward the track. He would not go back, could not go back.
The train lowed, and he was ready, set to spring, and then a spasm went through his left calf, a muscle cramp, it contracted and burned, and this goddamn body, everything had failed him, he had failed himself. Good god, it hurt, and he hobbled forward. He'd never be able to catch it.
December 29, 2025 at 1:34 AM
The train lowed, and he was ready, set to spring, and then a spasm went through his left calf, a muscle cramp, it contracted and burned, and this goddamn body, everything had failed him, he had failed himself. Good god, it hurt, and he hobbled forward. He'd never be able to catch it.
Charles pushed through the trees. A branch cracked up above in the wind but nothing fell. Goodbye to branches raining down on the tent. A train whistle blew out of the dark, and he had to hurry. He scampered through the trees, scratched his arm against a skeletal limb, but that didn't stop him.
December 28, 2025 at 12:47 AM
Charles pushed through the trees. A branch cracked up above in the wind but nothing fell. Goodbye to branches raining down on the tent. A train whistle blew out of the dark, and he had to hurry. He scampered through the trees, scratched his arm against a skeletal limb, but that didn't stop him.
It did not matter. Goodbye, Eighth Street. He headed out through the path that led to the cement plant, where the trains rolled slow because of a zag in the track.
December 26, 2025 at 11:14 PM
It did not matter. Goodbye, Eighth Street. He headed out through the path that led to the cement plant, where the trains rolled slow because of a zag in the track.
He wheeled around, tried to take it all in, the tents and the trees, the bite of the wind, the tinge of woodsmoke, a shaftless scythe of bright moon and a smattering of stars.
December 26, 2025 at 12:43 AM
He wheeled around, tried to take it all in, the tents and the trees, the bite of the wind, the tinge of woodsmoke, a shaftless scythe of bright moon and a smattering of stars.
He zipped himself out—goodbye for real. Goodbye, smoking fire. Goodbye, piles of trash. Goodbye, and he looked over to Frankie's old tent. The new family had to be asleep inside by now.
December 25, 2025 at 1:17 AM
He zipped himself out—goodbye for real. Goodbye, smoking fire. Goodbye, piles of trash. Goodbye, and he looked over to Frankie's old tent. The new family had to be asleep inside by now.
It was the middle of the night, and he was a fucking idiot, he knew, but Charles couldn't spend another minute here, inside this infernal tent. If he could, he'd light the whole damn thing on fire. He'd burn every trace of himself, every yellow-pitted T-shirt.
December 23, 2025 at 11:56 PM
It was the middle of the night, and he was a fucking idiot, he knew, but Charles couldn't spend another minute here, inside this infernal tent. If he could, he'd light the whole damn thing on fire. He'd burn every trace of himself, every yellow-pitted T-shirt.
He startled himself with it: one way or the other, he should ride a train out of here.
If John could do it, Charles could do it, but John probably hadn't done it.
If John could do it, Charles could do it, but John probably hadn't done it.
December 23, 2025 at 12:37 AM
He startled himself with it: one way or the other, he should ride a train out of here.
If John could do it, Charles could do it, but John probably hadn't done it.
If John could do it, Charles could do it, but John probably hadn't done it.
It might be good for Charles to read his own book to—to brush up. All that dumb shit he forgot and needed to get mad about all over again. It had gone quiet outside, so they must have gone to bed. He turned and burrowed. Come on, sleep, come back.
December 22, 2025 at 1:33 AM
It might be good for Charles to read his own book to—to brush up. All that dumb shit he forgot and needed to get mad about all over again. It had gone quiet outside, so they must have gone to bed. He turned and burrowed. Come on, sleep, come back.
Ugh. It was hard not to feel like a total piece of shit when you were a total piece of shit. That was a woman and her children out there, little kids, and it was clearly her first rodeo—she was petting the bulls.
December 21, 2025 at 12:10 AM
Ugh. It was hard not to feel like a total piece of shit when you were a total piece of shit. That was a woman and her children out there, little kids, and it was clearly her first rodeo—she was petting the bulls.
Charles turned from his back to his side, breathed in a mouthful of sourness. He squirmed and listened. He turned again to his other side, but he had lost it, the lovely sludge. Sleep would not let him back in.
December 19, 2025 at 9:33 PM
Charles turned from his back to his side, breathed in a mouthful of sourness. He squirmed and listened. He turned again to his other side, but he had lost it, the lovely sludge. Sleep would not let him back in.
"Do you all need any help, I don't know, moving things in?" Charles asked.
"We've only got a couple bags," the woman said.
Good. He had vanquished an obligation. A foam mattress required his musty return.
"We've only got a couple bags," the woman said.
Good. He had vanquished an obligation. A foam mattress required his musty return.
December 19, 2025 at 12:23 AM
"Do you all need any help, I don't know, moving things in?" Charles asked.
"We've only got a couple bags," the woman said.
Good. He had vanquished an obligation. A foam mattress required his musty return.
"We've only got a couple bags," the woman said.
Good. He had vanquished an obligation. A foam mattress required his musty return.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get you set up."
He led the three of them over to Frankie's tent, unzipped the flap, twisted on his pocket flashlight. Frankie's tent smelled only of tent, while Charles' tent smelled only of Charles.
He led the three of them over to Frankie's tent, unzipped the flap, twisted on his pocket flashlight. Frankie's tent smelled only of tent, while Charles' tent smelled only of Charles.
December 17, 2025 at 11:17 PM
"Come on," he said. "Let's get you set up."
He led the three of them over to Frankie's tent, unzipped the flap, twisted on his pocket flashlight. Frankie's tent smelled only of tent, while Charles' tent smelled only of Charles.
He led the three of them over to Frankie's tent, unzipped the flap, twisted on his pocket flashlight. Frankie's tent smelled only of tent, while Charles' tent smelled only of Charles.
Poor stupid kid, kids, all three of them.
"Camping's great all right," he said, the best he could do.
"Yeah," the woman said, "there's only one problem with that."
"Yeah?" he asked.
"No tent," she said.
Charles laughed aloud, couldn't help it, and she gave him a look.
"Camping's great all right," he said, the best he could do.
"Yeah," the woman said, "there's only one problem with that."
"Yeah?" he asked.
"No tent," she said.
Charles laughed aloud, couldn't help it, and she gave him a look.
December 17, 2025 at 1:13 AM
Poor stupid kid, kids, all three of them.
"Camping's great all right," he said, the best he could do.
"Yeah," the woman said, "there's only one problem with that."
"Yeah?" he asked.
"No tent," she said.
Charles laughed aloud, couldn't help it, and she gave him a look.
"Camping's great all right," he said, the best he could do.
"Yeah," the woman said, "there's only one problem with that."
"Yeah?" he asked.
"No tent," she said.
Charles laughed aloud, couldn't help it, and she gave him a look.
He left his tent, a man bereft of an automobile, of a home, of a partner. He had a molar that bit hot and would never see mending.
He exited the slit in the plastic, exhaled out from the warm into the winter.
He exited the slit in the plastic, exhaled out from the warm into the winter.
December 16, 2025 at 12:20 AM
He left his tent, a man bereft of an automobile, of a home, of a partner. He had a molar that bit hot and would never see mending.
He exited the slit in the plastic, exhaled out from the warm into the winter.
He exited the slit in the plastic, exhaled out from the warm into the winter.
When Charles had shown up at the hole, John greeted him, although that was perhaps not the word. John had accepted him, helped Charles find a flattish spot of ground, this same one he lay on top of now, helped him pitch his tent, the same one he huddled in, swaddled in dark.
December 14, 2025 at 7:05 PM
When Charles had shown up at the hole, John greeted him, although that was perhaps not the word. John had accepted him, helped Charles find a flattish spot of ground, this same one he lay on top of now, helped him pitch his tent, the same one he huddled in, swaddled in dark.
He sat, head clamped between his hands as if he could hold the fritz of sleep captive behind his eyes.
"Come on," the voice said. "It—it doesn't matter. No one will care."
"Come on," the voice said. "It—it doesn't matter. No one will care."
December 13, 2025 at 11:18 PM
He sat, head clamped between his hands as if he could hold the fritz of sleep captive behind his eyes.
"Come on," the voice said. "It—it doesn't matter. No one will care."
"Come on," the voice said. "It—it doesn't matter. No one will care."
Charles wanted nothing but sleep, sleep and nothing, but the voice had dragged him up from his dreams. Who the hell was out there?
December 12, 2025 at 7:01 PM
Charles wanted nothing but sleep, sleep and nothing, but the voice had dragged him up from his dreams. Who the hell was out there?
His grandmother sounded like the wind, but he didn't speak wind. He would not go get it. He was a boy walking the wrong way through the woods. He would never go home.
"Hello!" someone shouted.
"Hello!" someone shouted.
December 11, 2025 at 6:34 PM
His grandmother sounded like the wind, but he didn't speak wind. He would not go get it. He was a boy walking the wrong way through the woods. He would never go home.
"Hello!" someone shouted.
"Hello!" someone shouted.
He fell into the deep dark, the dark deep, a constant falling, the collapse of the outer world.
For hours or minutes, minutes like hours, he embraced nothing, was nothing.
For hours or minutes, minutes like hours, he embraced nothing, was nothing.
December 10, 2025 at 7:35 PM
He fell into the deep dark, the dark deep, a constant falling, the collapse of the outer world.
For hours or minutes, minutes like hours, he embraced nothing, was nothing.
For hours or minutes, minutes like hours, he embraced nothing, was nothing.
He rolled over to his side, and that did the magic, his brain turned mushy. He was a body, a collection of meat. He clenched his eyes tighter, stared at his inner dark. Frankie should, but, no, Charles pushed it away. He settled into the fuzz.
December 10, 2025 at 3:08 AM
He rolled over to his side, and that did the magic, his brain turned mushy. He was a body, a collection of meat. He clenched his eyes tighter, stared at his inner dark. Frankie should, but, no, Charles pushed it away. He settled into the fuzz.
He squeezed his cold hands under his thighs. A rush of wind jiggled his tent. The finger he broke in third grade offered its usual sore-knuckled complaint. Why did Frankie even come around The Hole anymore?
December 9, 2025 at 2:35 AM
He squeezed his cold hands under his thighs. A rush of wind jiggled his tent. The finger he broke in third grade offered its usual sore-knuckled complaint. Why did Frankie even come around The Hole anymore?
He sunk into the memory of his body, inhaled his spicy-sour BO, the smell of giving up, now a permanent tang. He lolled in his own odor, but in a bit, his nose would habituate.
December 7, 2025 at 9:30 PM
He sunk into the memory of his body, inhaled his spicy-sour BO, the smell of giving up, now a permanent tang. He lolled in his own odor, but in a bit, his nose would habituate.
He eyed the pile of laundry, as large and as fragrant as a Bernese mountain dog. He should shove it all in the duffel and walk to the bus stop and sit in the laundromat, watch his clothes spin. He should. He had the money for it. He had the time. He was a billionaire when it came to seconds.
December 7, 2025 at 12:53 AM
He eyed the pile of laundry, as large and as fragrant as a Bernese mountain dog. He should shove it all in the duffel and walk to the bus stop and sit in the laundromat, watch his clothes spin. He should. He had the money for it. He had the time. He was a billionaire when it came to seconds.
"I don't know that," Frankie said.
Charles frowned.
"But you're right," she said, "at least about the cold. Sorry—you're not even dressed. You go get warm."
"Bye, Frankie," Charles said and turned before she could say it back, trudged toward his tent.
Charles frowned.
"But you're right," she said, "at least about the cold. Sorry—you're not even dressed. You go get warm."
"Bye, Frankie," Charles said and turned before she could say it back, trudged toward his tent.
December 5, 2025 at 9:51 PM
"I don't know that," Frankie said.
Charles frowned.
"But you're right," she said, "at least about the cold. Sorry—you're not even dressed. You go get warm."
"Bye, Frankie," Charles said and turned before she could say it back, trudged toward his tent.
Charles frowned.
"But you're right," she said, "at least about the cold. Sorry—you're not even dressed. You go get warm."
"Bye, Frankie," Charles said and turned before she could say it back, trudged toward his tent.