The Mystical Knights of the Guys Outside of My House

In case you haven’t heard, I have a hobo problem.

Yesterday, I noticed that one of the guys has been gone; the others informed me that he’s doing fine, he has just returned to Canada.

“Was he deported?” I asked.
One of them told me; “No, he was just here on vacation”

I don’t know when sitting in front of my house counted as a vacation but apparently it does, especially if you like sitting in front of my house with no shirt on.

The guys and I reached a new understanding over the weekend. On Saturday night it was unbearably hot in my apartment so I opened my door and actually stepped out into Hobo Junction for a bit. The first thing I noticed is that it’s a diverse group, there’s a Canadian, an Irish and even a gay hobo out there and on Saturday there was an girl too, in some kind of hobo bikini. Maybe it was the heat getting to me, or I was just bored but I stayed out there with them for a while that night, eventually pulling out a portable record player and playing them some music. Believe it or not I stayed outside with those guys until late in the night, it was a regular vagrant dance party out there at least until the neighbors came out and told us to stop. As I packed up the records they thanked me and said goodnight, I felt like I had learned a little something about tolerance and acceptance of others. Finally, as I was getting ready to lock my door, the last one there offered me glimpse into the strange and mysterious ways of the hobos by offering me a hand-job in exchange for a box of frozen waffles. I felt like I had been accepted, but I said no thanks. I’ll do a lot of strange things but I have to draw the line at the hobo sex trade, plus I didn’t have any waffles.