Shiftless Retiree Discovers Shiftless Hobo

Well. We knew this day had to come sooner or later. And though it was inevitable, I didn't figure it would come with such little fanfare.

This morning I was found out. My cover was blown while I was still under it (7:10 in the morning, if anyone's keeping records).

It started just like any other modern gypsy caravan morning--waking to the sound of my alarm clock (which happens to have a cell phone feature, by the way); wondering for a few moments, while I lay there gathering my wits, where exactly I might be on this particular morning; the early sun beating into my once frozen--now rapidly heating--greenhouse of a car; my bladder pleading with me to find a port-o-pot very soon; and finally, my waking anxiety that there may be someone near my car doing lawn work or taking a morning walk.

Well, it was a normal morning--normal by hobo standards, anyway. But then came the outline of a figure into the frame of my upside-down window gaze.

Rats!!! Busted!!!

That old man in his mesh hat and flannel shirt looked right down into my nook of a car. I laid still as a whip-poor-will, wishing I were as camouflaged, too; then that man could've almost stepped on me and been none the wiser. But as it was, he passed on the street side of the car. And therefore, I think he was out hunting himself a hobo. Well, he found himself one.

Not a word passed between us, and hardly a glance. But neither did it matter; for his mesh hat and flannel shirt said it all.

"Get a job and shave, ya bum!!"

I didn't move for a minute after the retiree buzzed my car. When I finally and cautiously poked my head up to see, he was gone--either inside or around the corner. Then, I heard his wife nearby, taking in some target practice:

Photo by NGOA&ENGAF