#398 Hobo Rider

So the other day I was driving around, sometimes staying home loses its appeal. As I guess was the case with the hobos I saw—sometimes called the homeless, although I would assert there’s a distinction. My definition of a hobo is someone who is homeless by choice. At some point, the lust for the open road fixed itself to his soul like a lamprey on a shark’s belly and he hasn’t been home since. Even if he’s tried. The problem with that wanderlust is when you do try to go home, sometimes there ain’t a home left. You’ve drunk yourself into your hobo oblivion and when you try to pick up the pieces of your life all the pieces have moved on. I bear no special fear or hate of hobos, I’m not hobophobic, but sometimes I’m in awe at their incredible resourcefulness as urban campers. It gets pretty rainy in Washington yet they always seem to have a fresh new cardboard sign. Some even with poetry. “Down on my luck, can you spare me a buck” is one of my favorites. I think I saw a British hobo the other day. His sign said: “Give me a crown and I’ll get out of town.” Maybe he was Canadian and had to hitchhike back north for some healthcare. I’m amazed at the ingenuity of the average bum. They seem to have adequate weather-specific clothing, an endless supply of cigarettes, or at least extra long butts, and if I’m not mistaken, that brown paper bag they keep pressing to their lips contains an energy drink of some sort. So really, if you ask are the necessities covered, it looks like they are. And if freedom is defined as covering the necessities but doing what you want, then I guess you could say they are free. Unless you mean free to walk into, say, the theatre or a restaurant and not be greeted by disapproving eyes. But they have appeared to solve at least one dilemma. Transporting their stuff without stealing a shopping cart. Shopping carts are unwieldy at best. Not to mention that police folk wonder if you legally acquired them. The solution? Skateboards. Yep. Drive downtown sometime and see how many older established bums are now darting around on skateboards. Ho-boarders. Probably lifted them from stoned, not-paying-attention teenage thrashers. And now they keep them with them every moment, lest one of their brethren of the road lift in turn. They use them to move their piled on belongings. Once the belongings are stashed they carry the board safely through the day with not much effort. And even take an occasional fun ride down the sidewalk. Happiness isn’t all booze. Yesterday this hobo rider came to a stop next to me, kicked up his board, caught it under his armpit, and took a pull from his bag in one smooth movement. I smiled in appreciation and gave him a thumbs up. He gave me a gap-toothed smile in return and slurred confidently, “I could do a 360 olley if I didn’t have this bum knee.”
America, ya gotta love it.