Swifty turned, running.

His long braid streaking behind him like the wind.

He could hear his father yelling. Opportunities running away from him

The skinny chinese boy ran. He ran back to the old neighbor hood. Because he had no where else to go.

His thin shoes pounded and he kept running. Running past the opium dens and right through the chinatown. Running past the elegant lettering of Chinese to a world where no one had a braid and where no one spoke of the emperor.

He closed his eyes in relief as he stopped.

He would never work on the railroads.