HOBOS

BORN TO BE WILD

The sun was just clearing the tree tops on its climb into the Florida sky. The  the creatures of Walsingham Park were changing shifts, with the nocturnal types heading for shelter, and the day timers waking up and seeking food and drink. The lake was a mirror reflecting the morning sky, sporadically disturbed by the wake of a cruising gator, fishing anhinga, or turtle poking the surface for some air. Along edge of the lake, runners, bikers, and walkers coursed along a paved path. The early birds had announced the arrival of the morning and were quieting down as they sought shelter from the hot sun.

  Dressed coolly in lightweight cotton slacks and button down shirt, topped with sunglasses and an off-white flat cap, Genovius sat comfortably on a bench, in the shade of a stand of tall pines and cherry laurels. He alternated between reading his book, cheerfully acknowledging greetings from passers-by, and periodically catching a glimpse of hidden creatures poking their noses out of the camouflage and shade of the bushes. Genovious pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat beads from his brow as he tilted his head to better hear a high-pitched creaking sound which seemed to be approaching from a park entrance. As the irritating squeaking grew louder and closer, Genovious also heard a person talking or maybe singing…very badly. Distracted from his book, he strained to hear better  the raspy voice accompanying the creaking

“Get your motor running…get out on the highway! Looking for adventure…in whatever comes my way! Like a true nature’s child…I was born…born to be wild…I can climb so high….NEVER WANT TO DIE!…BORN TO BE WILD….” The singer appeared from around the bend and when he saw the man on the bench hollered out “HEY BROTHER!”

The man was pushing a high-barred adult tricycle which was towing a noisy red metal wagon. The trike and wagon were loaded down with bags and boxes and miscellaneous trinkets and oddities. The man labored to push the load up to the bench.
“Mind if I have a seat brother?” asked the skinny man who was sweating heavily.
“Not my bench to police, you can have a seat anywhere you’d like.”
“WHOOOA brother, I’m not going to hurt you or anything, just looking to pop a squat in the shade for a few.”
Genovius eyed the scruffy looking man suspiciously. He was wearing a pair of ragged frayed blue jeans, a sweaty t-shirt that said “SAY: EYE, SPELL: MAP, SAY: NESS”, a worn pair of hiking boots, topped off with a red paisley doorag holding back a head of long stringy grey hair. He looked to be about the same age as Genovius.
Genovius, wanting to move the man along, said “I’m not your brother, I don’t own this bench, I’m not looking for conversation, and I don’t have any spare change.”
The man tilted his head and whistled. “Pheeeeew! The judge has spoken! Brother, I didn’t ask for anything other than a small portion of this bench. I have no need for any of your spare change because as you can see, I have a pretty fair amount of my own treasures.”
The man stared hard at Genoviuos, who gave no ground and stared back.
The man shook has head “You know what? I’m gonna just move on. I don’t feel like trouble today and you smell a lot like trouble.  You got some kinda good game going here and you don’t want me to bother it.”

Both men paused as a woman dressed in workout gear walked by.

Genovious tipped his cap in a gentlemanly gesture. The hobo smiled and nodded “Morning ma’am”. The woman quickened her pace and disappeared down the trail swearing and grumbling to herself.
The man grabbed the handlebars on the trike and started pushing. “See you around brother. You ain’t no different than me – you just running a different game.  Looks like you might have a pretty good gig here, I ain’t gonna bother you.”
Genovious protested “HEY! I am not anything like you and you’ve got it wrong. I just come out here to read my book and not be bothered. Especially by vagrants and hobos. You better keep on moving before I call the law. Move on.”

The hobo just smiled and walked away singing “I like smoke and lightning….heavy metal thunder…racing with the wind…and the feeling that I’m under…yeah darlin’ gonna make it happen…take the world in a love embrace…fire all of your guns at once and…explode into space…like a true nature’s child…I was born, born to be wild…”

With that, the creaking and singing gradually faded away into the park and Genovious went back to reading his book.

WHITE ROOM

The next morning Genovious checked around to make sure the crazy hobo hadn’t returned before taking his spot on the bench to read his book. The heat and humidity remained oppressive, even under the shade of the pines and cherry laurels. Genovious was already soaked with sweat. Summer was waning, but in Florida, that didn’t mean too much. Fall could be more brutal than summer and there was always the chance of a hurricane.

Genovious nodded and smiled at the regulars as they passed by on their morning outings until one, usually friendly, woman came by hurriedly and out of breath. Looking over her shoulder and spouting in disgust, “Stupid vagrants and homeless bums are everywhere! Can’t even enjoy a walk without coming across some stinking singing drunk staggering around and blocking the path! Where are the sheriffs when you need them?” She stomped off in a tizzy in search of a park ranger. Shortly after came the creaking and bad singing  from the day before

“In a white room with black curtains in the staaation… black roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings…silver horses ran down moonbeams in your dark eyes…dawn light smiles on you leaving, my contentment… I’ll wait in this place where the sun never shines…waaait in this place wear the shadows run from themselves…”

“Well hey there! If it isn’t the ruler of the bench!”  prodded the hobo as he pushed his trike up and plopped down opposite Genovious.
“Ain’t askin’ today. NOPE! I got me an iced mochachocalatta café and an egg, sausage, and cheese biskit!”
Genovious just shook his head and tried his best to ignore the vagrant.
“Got these for free from the store clerk on a deal that if I didn’t eat them on the premises, I could have them. I knew just the place I could come and enjoy a fine dining experience.”
Genovious mumbled “Ain’t I the lucky one.”
“Hey – you want a bite?” the hobo offered holding the sandwich out toward Genovious. “That’s how sharing works” the hobo chuckled.
Genovious rolled his eyes “No thanks.”
“Your loss. Ain’t nothing wrong with it, they only leave them out for so long before they have to pull them and throw them away –or in this case – give them to the poor hungry bum. If ida known you were gonna be here, I would’ve negotiated for another one. As it was, I told the guy I was dying of thirst and wouldn’t be able to get this down my gullet without a drink. When he asked me what I wanted, I told him I wanted an iced mochachocalatta.” The hobo took a bite and continued on with a mouthful of biscuit. “He said he’d give me the drink and food if I’d leave. Being an expert negotiator, I told him only if he put whipped cream on top of my mochachocolatta drink.”  The hobo laughed “He agreed and said if I didn’t leave he was gonna call the cops.” “DEAL!”  He held his drink up studying it. “Ain’t an iced anything anymore in this heat. More like lukewarm sewage water. Good thing I sucked that whipped cream off the top right up front! Want a sip?”
Genovius shook his head “No thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”
The hobo finished off his meal in a few bites, washing it down with his drink.
He looked over at Genovious and studied the tattoo on his arm.
“You a military guy? A war hero or something?”
Genovious sighed, “I was in the Army.”
“HUH! Ever kill anyone?”
Genovious angrily responded “What kind of question is that? Are you an idiot?”
The bum hung his head “You’re right, I’m sorry about that.”
Genovious spotted one particular tattoo out of all the hobo had that drew his anger down. “You were in too.”
The hobo nodded “Marine Corps raider. First Force Recon in Vietnam. Cleared villages so you Army guys could come in.”
Genovious nodded “I was a door gunner in 1^st Air Cavalry.”
The hobo whistled and stuck out his hand “Honored to meet you! Not many of y’all came out alive!”
Genovious winced and smiled “We lost a lot, we all did.”
Still holding a firm grip on Genovious hand the hobo asked “What’s your name brother?”
Genovious stiffened “Genovious – that’s (spelling it) G E N O V I O U S! Not Geno, not Gen, not G, Not Novi – GENOVIOUS!” he finished in a near holler.
The hobo released his hand and just stared at Genovious. He was speechless and shocked by the way Genovious had declared his name.
“Well okay then. I’ll sure remember THAT name. Your obviously proud of that.”
“It’s the name I was given at birth and the name I expect people to call me by. What’s your name?”
“Well, honestly, I’m not as particular since I get called a lot of different things and generally if I think you’re talking to me, I’ll answer. If you want, you can call me Hobo cause believe it or not, that was my nickname in ‘Nam. Real name’s just Earl, you can call me that too.”
Hobo lightened up some and laughed “Imagine coming here to meet a couple old war heroes. Were you drafted?’
Genovious smirked “I sure was. Gambled and didn’t volunteer soon enough.”
Hobo laughed “Well look at me – I joined the Marines to avoid the draft and my number never got called!”
“It’s good to meet you brother but I’ll be moving along now, got places to be and things to do!  I don’t consider myself a vagrant like that lady called me. I call myself a vagabond and a vagabond’s work is never done! Once you ate your last meal, it’s time to go figure out where the next one’s coming from. Besides, if you stay in one place too long the sheriff always shows up. See you again sometime Genovious.”
Genovious smiled “Take care Hobo….brother”

With that Hobo started off into the park singing. “At the party she was kindness in the hard crowd…consolation for the old wound now forgotten…yellow tiger crouched in jungles, in her dark eyes…she’s just dressing, goodbye windows, tired starlings…I’ll sleep in this place with lonely crowd…Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves.”
Hobo stopped and yelled back at Genovious “Do you know that song? White Room?”
Genovious nodded “I know it.”
“What the hell is with the tired starlings? Actually what the hell is that whole song about anyway?”
Genovious just shook his head and shrugged, laughing at Hobo as he walked away scratching his head and singing… badly.

RUN THROUGH THE JUNGLE

it was a scorcher in the Florida sun as Hobo struggled to push his load along the path. A couple of hardy joggers took wide swaths around the bedraggled straggler as he sang his way along.

Woah, thought it was a nightmare…Lord it’s all so true…They told me, don’t go walkin’ slow…The devil’s on the loose…Better run through the jungle…

Suddenly Hobo stopped and jumped up with a big smile. “HEY HEY HEY! Where have you been soldier? I been by here a few days and you been AWOL! I bet you been holed up in your air conditioned mansion sitting by the pool with a cool one and a cuty eh?
Genovious smiled and shook his head “I didn’t know I was reporting in to the Marines now.”
“Naaah – just missing our deep conversations, that’s all.” Hobo plopped down on the end of the bench and let out a loud exhale. “Man it’s hotter than Satan’s armpit out here!”
“You okay Genovious? Where you been? Old Hobo been worried about you.”
Genovious grinned and shrugged, “All good, just had some business to take care of.”
Hobo just nodded in agreement “Yeah, yeah, I know about business. I got some myself that I take care of, takes up most of my days.”
Genovious smiled, “I’m sure you do Earl.”
Hobo jumped up and started moving things around on this trike. “HEY! I brung you something!.” Finally uncovering a small cooler he opened the top and carefully lifted a large cup out of it. “It’s a iced fancy coffee! You like coffee?”
“Sure I like coffee. Is it still cold or did it turn to sewer water?”
Hobo just rolled his eyes, “Somebody threw this little cooler thing out on the side of the road or it fell off a truck or something. I been using it as my portable refrigerator so things stay cold.”
Genovious acknowledged Hobo’s utility “Nice, nice.”
“Yeah, I been trying to bring you a coffee and all but you ain’t been around so I been having coffee and sandwiches for breakfast and lunch.”
“How have you been getting them? You on the same deal as before?”
“Kind of, yeah, but this morning one of the guys on the electric company line crew offered to get me something so I told him what I wanted and also told him I had a handicapped friend with no legs that I was bringing food to.”
Genovious shook his head “And I’m that handicapped friend?”
Hobo shrugged “Sure, if you wanna be. The guy didn’t ask any questions and I’m pretty sure he didn’t believe me anyway. I mean, does it make any sense a guy looking like me is taking care of a legless handicapped dude? Feeding him minimart bombers?”
Genovious was laughing now “So do I get a minimart bomber with my sewer water coffee?”
Hobo looked hurt “Man I been bringing you breakfast every morning and you ain’t even been here! Now I bring you something and you don’t even appreciate it! You know who does appreciate this?” he asked holding up a wrapped egg and bacon biscuit sandwich.
Hobo walked across the trail to the edge of the lake and held out the sandwich. Genovious watched as a medium sized gator surfaced and swam toward Hobo. Hobo tossed the sandwich to the gator which quickly snapped it up as Hobo walked back and sat down.
Genovious just stared at Hobo “You know you’re not supposed to feed wild gators right?”
Hobo laughed “Are you gonna report me?”
“It’s dangerous and against the law. When you feed them they learn to associate people with food and start coming after people. Also they really probably shouldn’t eat people food.”
“I don’t think you go to jail for feeding gators unless you feed them your wife or kid or something. Also you’re talking about an animal that stashes carrion underwater and picks at it as it rots, I’m pretty sure my egg biskit ain’t gonna send any gators looking for the Pepto.”
“Suit yourself – it’ll be your ticket.”
“OH NO! Not another ticket! They’ll just have to put it on my tab. I probably owe enough fines to buy this park. I’ll have to figure out which name to put it under.”
“Well, just don’t feed them from here, I don’t need them coming up thinking I’m gonna give them breakfast.”
“You got it, I’ll move over to the playground from now on. You gonna have a biskit or not?”
Genovious eyed Hobo “I think you just gave mine to Lyle there.”
Hobo shook his head, “Lyle’s a crocodile not a gator and I got some extra because the store clerk gave the electric guy the out of time ones to keep me out of the store. The ‘lectric guy told me to give them to my legless brother’s kids.’ Hobo tossed a wrapped breakfast sandwich at Genovious. “Here you go junior!”
The two men sat quietly eating and sipping their coffees while the gator watched from a few yards off the bank.

Hobo stretched and got up, “Gotta go, you know business.”
Genovious asked “Where you off to?”
“Have an appointment at the mental ward tomorrow so I have to head down toward the hospital so they can still see that I’m touched”
“The V A?”
Hobo answerer bitterly, “Yep, so I can get some of that fine compassion and care they promise us veterans”
Genovious nodded knowingly.
“You ever go there Genovious?”
Genovious nodded “Yes, I’m a regular.”
Hobo got a distant look in his eye “You know Genovious, I watched my brothers get blown up by a woman carrying a baby. We went in and cleared a village and this young girl had pointed out some Cong to us and seemed to help us flush out some. We figured we had the village cleared and all of a sudden this girl with a baby in her arms walked into the middle of 3 of my buddies and blew them all up. I fuckin’ killed everyone else in that village. They flew me out of there because I took shrapnel. Once I healed they sent me back and I never left no survivors. Sent me home because I was out of control.”
Genovius listened intently.
“You know what that the V A guy told me? He tells me “That was a long time ago Earl – we have to get you past that”.”
Hobo and Genovious sat quietly for a minute.
Hobo spoke quietly “Not in my head…it was yesterday…it was this morning…” Hobo shook his head and trembled “Those were my brothers. We were going to get home and go surfing together. We were going to meet each other’s girlfriends and be best men in each other’s weddings. We promised to watch each other’s back and to get each other out of that hell – alive.” Hobo hung is head and spoke in a near whisper “I should’ve taken her out… should’ve seen it setting up… should’ve had my brother’s backs.” Hobo looked up at Genovious “You don’t get past that. You don’t outrun that. You don’t medicate that. You don’t fix that with therapy. You live that. You carry that, That moment is when your life froze and you’ll never move forward from it. Cope with it? Either do that or turn the gun on yourself… but that moment in time, that picture in your head, that rage is a wound that will never heal.”

After a few silent minutes passed Genovious asked “You alright brother?”
Hobo just sat staring ahead quietly. Genovious put his arm around Hobo’s shoulders. Hobo nodded his head and said “Thanks for listening brother, sorry to dump my trash on you.”
Genovious smiled and shook his head “No apologies Hobo. We were put in a horrible situation and there’s no coming back from some of it. Keep pushing forward brother.”
Hobo took a deep breath and stood up. “YEAH YEAH YEAH! Gotta get myself right for the V A man. Let’s see what he’ll have for me now. I think I just did my therapy with you Genovious. Hey! You want some anti-depressants? They give them out by the hudreds down the V A. Iweaned myself off them and cleaned myself up awhile back – no drugs no alcohol – I take it straight now. I sing my way out of it!”
Genovious just laughed and shook his head “That’s what you call that noise?”

Hobo grabbed his trike and started off. “Hey you know that song “Run for the Jungle”? Genovious nodded “Yeah I know it”.
“Everyone thought it was a Vietnam protest song but it was actually a gun violence protest. Old J Fogerty was worried about the gun culture and prolifration of guns in the country…IN 1 9 7 0! Dude was a prophet huh?”

Hobo pushed off “Better run through the jungle…. better run through the jungle… better run through the jungle… thought I heard a rumblin’… callin’ my name…two hundred guns are loaded…Satan cries “Take aim”…better run through the jungle

BORN IN THE USA

Born down in a dead man’s town… The first kick I took was when I hit the ground…End up like a dog that’s been beat too much…’Til you spend half your life just coverin’ up now…Born in the USA… I was born in the USA…

Hobo was rocking back and forth pushing the pedals of the tricycle and singing. He’d left the park through the back entrance and was working his way to the storage lot on roads and paths where he would be least noticeable. Vagabonds had a bad reputation and constant trouble with people who didn’t want them around. The local sheriffs all knew Hobo because of the calls they got about a suspicious person in the neighborhood. Most reported anonymously – which made Hobo laugh. Humans charged with taking care of humanity by feeding the hungry, quenching the thirsty, sheltering the homeless and clothing the naked – but if they remained anonymous – the all seeing, all knowing Lord and Savior wouldn’t know it was them who called the cops on this degenerate bum. Funny enough – people showed more concern for a stray dog than another human. Hobo had once had a dog as a companion until “concerned” citizens had the animal taken away from him. Being on the streets as long as he had, Hobo knew, invisibility was the key. Keep to the untraveled roads and pathways, stay in the shadows, leave no sign. The Marines had trained him well in this lifestyle. Some days though, you had to come out of the shadows to do business.

Hobo rode along the sidewalk bordering a busy highway. He sang as he pedalled and waved at the honking a hollering hecklers. “Get a job you fucking bum!” “Find somewhere else to go asshole.” “The shelter’s the other way!” At one point a car slowed alongside Hobo. A young man hung out the window “HEY! Homeless dude! YOU HUNGRY?” Hobo just kept moving not engaging or looking at the car. The boy threw a tray of food and drink which landed squarely on Hobo. “HERE YA GO HOMIE!!!” as the car sped off with the occupants howling and laughing. Covered in tacos, sauce, beans and soda, Hobo pedaled on toward his destination a few blocks away.

Hobo pulled into the driveway of the storage lot and poked his head into the office. “HEY!!! EARL!!!” called out the man behind the counter. “C’mon in – nobody around today!” Hobo smiled and looked down at himself covered in food “Hey Ricky – I brought you some tacos for lunch!” Ricky shook his head “Godamn punks! No respect or compassion.” Hobo laughed “Yeah but they got pretty good taste in food! Mind if I go around to the shower and get cleaned up a bit?” Ricky waved Earl on and then stopped him and read and carefully followed the instructions on his shirt “I m a p ness… HA That’s a good one Earl where’d you get it?” Hobo shook his head “This isn’t a good shirt to teach your kids how to read Ricky.” Ricky pointed at Hobo “HEY! is that blood on your head?” Hobo touched the side of his head gingerly “Oh yeah. That happened down on 110th last night. Some tough cowboy in a big truck impressing his girlie by pegging the old bum in the head with a beer.”
“Damn Earl – you call the sheriff?”
“Oh yeah! I sat right down on the sidewalk and yelled SHERRRIIIIFFF!…but they musta been busy because they didn’t come.”
Looking disgusted Ricky said “Earl, that’s a crime and that dumbass needs to be reported. you get a description or license plate?”
“Nah he did that smokey thing so I couldn’t see anything. Besides I had blood in my eyes. And wouldn’t ya know the beer can was empty by the time I picked it up.”
“Anybody stop to help you?”
Hobo just gave a wry stare. “C’mon Ricky, the only time anyone cares is when I’m messing up their picture of paradise. Anybody passing by probably thought – score one for the good ol’ boys – now maybe that bum will go away.”
“Get cleaned up Earl. The wife sent me too much for lunch and you can help me eat it.”
Hobo laughed “I’ve had her cooking before. You ain’t offering because there’s too much – you’re offering because it’s bad and you don’t want to die alone.”
Ricky laughed with Hobo “Caught me Earl! Pretty bad when I envy you for what you get to eat!”
“A’right Ricky, let me get cleaned up a little and we’ll see if we can choke it down.”

DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU”VE GOT TILL IT’S GONE

They paved paradise and put up a parking lot… With a pink hotel a boutique and swingin’ hotspot…Hobo always sang this song when he came here.

Hobo sang as he rode his trike down the lot between a couple of the long warehouses. The buildings were relics from the old citrus processing and shipping plant that once fronted a large orange grove. The buildings had been converted to mini-storage after the grove had been sold off and developed. Hobo came to a stop as a car pulled alongside. “Old feller, you need to get a new car – that gas guzzling piece of shit’s killing the earth.”
The old man yelled back “Not only are you a smelly pile of shit – you’re a hippie bastard! Get a job ya’ bum!”
Hobo laughed, “I had a couple jobs but they decided they didn’t need killers anymore and then the other asshole I worked for sold my job out from under me! Honestly, that homosexual then tried to take me as his wife and I had to get the hell outta there.” The old man shot back, “Even if I were a homosexual – and that’s perfectly acceptable nowadays ‘cept I think you have to say gays cause homosexual is wrong – YOU would NOT be a person of interest! You scraggly, smelly, nasty old vagrant!” Hobo bowed to the old man “I appreciate the high complements from an old coot whose final brainwave has long ago crashed upon the beach.”
”Laughing, the driver asked “Earl, where you been? You get thrown in the tank again or locked up in the clinic?”
”Nope! Just been around, you know?”
” Well get yourself cleaned up a bit and come sit and have some grub with me. I’m sure Patricia has something cooking.”
”Well, I got a commitment with Ricky to share some of his wife’s food.”
”Good God Earl! That woman can’t prepare a meal that hogs would eat. You need to check out of that!”
Hobo chuckled, ”Give me an hour to clean up and spend some time helping to choke down Ricky’s wife’s grool. I’ll come up after that Lawrence.” Lawrence grinned and drove on through the gate that led to the old original homestead. “Bring Ricky up with you he could probably use some real food.”

Lawrence was Lawrence Cooper III: son of Lawrence Cooper Junior: and grandson of Lawrence Cooper Senior. Lawrence senior was the son of a land prospector who first squatted on and eventually claimed a parcel of land on the Pinellas Peninsula in the mid 1800’s. The land was titled to the Coopers under the federal government’s 1842 Armed Occupation Act which required that the holder bear arms and live on the land in a fit habitation for five years and cultivate at least 5 acres. It was no problem as the elder Cooper was a hardy adroit landsman who would figure out how to get the most from the climate and land. He spent his early life working the family farm in Indiana and was excited about a new life in the tropics. Lawrence Sr, the oldest of 3 children, worked closely with his father to exploit their prime location. The productive land fronted Boca Ciega Bay to the southwest and was beneficiary of run-off from a ridge which sloped gently from the east and drained through their fields. Eventually, a railroad cut along the western border of their land and although primarily meant for passenger service, the younger Cooper used his business influence to convince the rail service to add a stop for freight (cotton, produce and cattle) at a convenient spot along the Cooper plot. A small airfield and airport was built along the southern border. The Coopers raised crops and kept a small heard of cattle. As near-by St Petersburg’s population grew, they prospered by providing for the locals. Eventually development of land for homes and businesses overran the modest urban farm the Coopers had worked. After Lawrence Sr. Passed, Lawrence Jr and Lawrence III partnered and started selling off parcels of the land to developers. It was clear that they were holding prime property along primary corridors in the newly chartered Pinellas County. When Lawrence Jr. died, Lawrence III was left with less than a quarter of the original settlement, where he grew citrus. After the Florida citrus industry collapsed Lawrence sold off all but a corner of the original settlement which he kept for himself and his family. The old airfield was now an indoor mall; the railroad right of way was paved over and converted to a recreational trail; and the rest of the parcel was sectioned off into neighborhoods of single family homes and businesses. A main traffic artery cut through the middle of it all and connected to the beaches of the barrier islands.
Earl Sam Martin, aka Hobo, attended school and served with Lawrence III’s son Ronnie in Vietnam. The Coopers were surrogate parents to Hobo as his own parents were unable to provide adequately for he and his sisters. Ronnie Cooper was killed in action in Vietnam Nam which always weighed hard on Hobo. Hobo came back from Vietnam Nam and worked the farm for the Coopers until they quit farming and his own demons overwhelmed him. These days, he visited and used the Cooper compound as a refuge from the crazy world and they always welcomed him in. They kept a room set aside for him in the back corner of one of the warehouses. The place was air conditioned, connected to a shower room, and habitable if Hobo chose to stay there . He did spend some nights there from time to time and stored his belongings there, but never stayed more than a day or two at a time. “Too long of a commute from my business” he’d answer, when pressed to stay. Hobo dropped his gear, rinsed off, and changed clothes before heading back up to the office to meet up with Ricky.

Hobo sat in the office with Ricky, staring down at bowl of some murky soup-like concoction. A recipe Ricky’s wife had found online. “Is it supposed to look like this? Ricky, I honestly can’t do this. You need to buy that girl cooking classes or get a hired cook. This is worse than anything I ever ate! Sometimes, I eat out of dumpsters!”
”You’re right Hobo, but I can’t hurt her feelings. She tries really hard. She don’t understand why nobody will come over when she invites them.”
”Does she have any cookbooks?”
”She does Earl but what she reads and what comes out ain’t even close to the same! Maybe she can’t read, I don’t know.”
”Ricky, I can’t guess the problem but I’d look into meals on wheels or something. Before she kills somebody! Let’s go up to see Lawrence and see what Patricia cooked up.”

THE BIG HOUSE

Ricky and Hobo sat in their usual places at the big table while Patricia set places and brought out some salads and sandwiches. Lawrence sat at the head of the table, as always.

“Y’all help yourselves, I brought it this far, you can manage to get it from the table to your mouths I suppose.” Patricia instructed.

Patricia was formally Patricia Elaine Smith, lifetime companion and common law wife of Lawrence Cooper III. The couple had been together since high school and never found the time or need to formally sanction their relationship. They were simply Lawrence and Patricia and nobody ever challenged or questioned it. They had a single child and spent a good deal of their nurturing energy on nephews, nieces, and strays like Earl. Patricia was close friends with Earl’s mother and served as a surrogate in his mother’s inability to parent Earl and his 2 sisters. His sisters eventually shipped off and were adopted by Earl’s uncle who had no interest in Earl. The Coopers took him in and Patricia and Lawrence raised him as their own.

Patricia pressed “So what are you up to now Earl? Is this the V A sleep over?”
Hobo nodded with a mouthful of salad “Yes ma’am – time for service and check-up.”
”Well Earl let’s hope it goes better than the last couple times. You been taking any meds?”
”No ma”am that shit makes me crazy!”
”Well Earl – they say you’re already crazy and those meds make you normal.”
Lawrence piped up “Nothing normal about Earl. Ain’t a drug been invented gonna fix that. Hell Patricia, the boy was raised by us and ain’t we a couple loons? The V A ain’t miracle workers.”
Patricia rolled her eyes “ Maybe you can go easy on them this time Earl. You know tell them what you know they want to hear and not be so honest. That last doctor was convinced you were dangerous. Just get through it and move on this time!”
”I’ll try ma’am but them friggin doctors got some pretty odd ways of trying to help me deal with my shit.”
”EARL! Not at MY table! I will still smack you into last year. You won’t need counseling, you’ll need an ambulance smut mouth.”
”Sorry mom. It’s just frustrating to have to go there. Always a different new young doctor who has the latest answers. From sitting around twisted up like a pretzel to,having somebody sticking needles in me, to taking drugs to numb my brain.”
”Just go in and do what you have to and get out of there Earl. Don’t fight them.”
”I’ll try, but it’s real hard to walk away calmly when somebody tells you that you need to let it go. Never can and never will. They trained me to be an elite killer. I was good at it and now they’re afraid I’m going to unleash on society, so they got me leashed to the V A. I ain’t about to hurt anyone and you know it.”\

DOCTOR MY EYES

Hobo opened his eyes to the pre-dawn darkness and quiet of the old warehouse. He had slept soundly on the comfortable cot, without the need to keep one eye open for anyone discovering him or stealing his things. He stretched and yawned before unwinding himself from the security of the blankets. Rolling out of bed, he grabbed his kit and headed for the shower.

“Doctor my eyes have seen the years, and the slow parade of tears, I’ve been crying can you help me understand?

As he sang and hummed the song he thought about how the day would go. He’d check-in at the desk and wait with all of the other wackos until summoned by some clinical aid who would take him to a room and do the pre-interrogation. “How have you been feeling?” “Have you had any issues or problems (meaning have you been arrested or jailed)?” “Have you been taking your meds?” “Any depression or thoughts of suicide?” The aid would enter that all into the computer so the doctor could see it and then ask you the same questions. The quack whisperer would then get personal with him and start acting like they were best buddies while asking probing questions. “How ARE you doing really?” “What do you do with your time?” “What’s your frame of mind? Do you think about positive things or negative?” The questions would keep coming while the doc kept one eye on the clock. When time was up the doc would be satisfied he had all he needed. He’d make an assessment and recommendation. “You seem to be level and calm my friend. I recommend you keep on with the therapies and tactics we’ve given you. I’ll renew your prescriptions and see you back in six-months.” At least Hobo knew that’s how it COULD go. Somehow though, he always ran out of patience somewhere around the first question from the smart-assed aid. It was very hard not to give inappropriate and outrageous answers to see how they dealt with it. Once he sent the aid out of the room in tears because he told her he’d been having a craving for human flesh lately and thought about taking a bite out of his arm. He told her he was hanging outside of a crematorium waiting to see if he could make a grab at a body before they cooked it. He followed up with “Do you think that’s weird?” As she tried to politely placate him, he asked if she had any children. She started crying and left the room. That visit ended badly as he got admitted and put in a room under constant watch – while they pumped him with drugs. The more he tried to tell them he was just being a smart-ass, the less they believed him. It took awhile for him to get back right after purging all of the drugs and his brain remained fogged from what they’d given him. after a couple weeks he finally passed the “safe for interacting with other humans” test and they let him go. So much for his dark sense of humor. He’d still give some smart-assed answers but was careful about