Wolves of the Calla (The Dark Tower, #5)

by Stephen King

The stranger wore a long black coat open over a dark shirt with a notched collar. His hair was long and white, sticking up on the sides and in front as if scared. His forehead was marked with a T-shaped scar. “My friends are still back there a little piece,” he said, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the woods in a deliberately nonspecific way. “I now call Calla Bryn Sturgis my home. Before that, Detroit, Michigan, where I worked in a homeless shelter, making soup and running AA meetings. Work I knew quite well. Before that—for a short while—Topeka, Kansas.” He observed the way the three younger ones started at that with a kind of interested amusement. “Before that, New York City. And before that, a little town called Jerusalem’s Lot, in the state of Maine.”