Harry Hobo

Harry opened one eye, then the other. He was relieved as he realized because he could see. He felt a flicker of gratitude for waking in an alley and not in a trash bin or gutter, which was an improvement in his life. This was his reality, and it was better than some alternatives. He wiggled his fingers and toes, relieved to find them all intact, and checked his pockets. His hand brushed against the shape of a half-empty wine bottle. Despite everything, this was shaping up to be a great day. He stood up, casting his eyes around to figure out where he was downtown. There were parts of the city he preferred to avoid waking up in. A small victory: he was wearing all his clothes, so nothing had been stolen. He didn't own much, but what he had was his.

First, he needed something for breakfast. He was very hungry, a painful reminder that he hadn't eaten since yesterday. He took a long drink from his bottle, which helped for now. Next, he needed food. Time to check the dumpsters behind the fast food places. If he were lucky, he wouldn't have to fight too many rats. Roaches didn't bother Harry much, but rats did. He sometimes joked that one day the rats would gang up and make him their breakfast. He remembered a friend who once woke up in a trash bin, missing a finger, probably chewed off by a rat. That friend wasn't sure about much, not even his own name. Harry, on the other hand, was proud he always knew his name. He always remembered his first name, though sometimes he had to think a bit to recall his last. He didn't always get it right.

Lunch wouldn’t be a problem. Harry would go to Brother Mark’s mission and get soup and a sandwich. You had to listen to Brother Mark go on about how it wasn’t too late to turn your life around. Harry knew better. With these guys, it was way too late to turn any of it around. If they had what that took, they wouldn’t be here in the first place. But they were here, and they always would be here. The sermon didn’t last long, and even Brother Mark didn’t seem to expect anything, so it was all right.

How he was going to raise the money for another bottle was a problem. It was a problem every day. Panhandle or look for change? Panhandling was rough if the cops were in a bad mood. They didn’t care about the courts declaring panhandling as a right. They had their ways of discouraging panhandling if the wrong cop got bothered. Then there would be blood involved. Finding money was a little trickier. People no longer carried money around as they used to. It could take all day to find enough for a bottle, on a good day. Harry wanted to drink wine in an alley is what he wanted to do. If he was lucky, he’d find a ten-dollar bill and could take a day or two off. Hobo’s aren’t too much for thinking ahead.

Harry saw his old friend Jimmy coming down the street. Harry didn’t want to share what was left of his bottle with Jimmy and certainly didn’t want to talk to him. Jimmy was losing his vocabulary more and more as time went on. Talking to Jimmy was like talking to a very young child. A very young, stupid child. And that was only if Jimmy was having a good day. If he was having an off day, he was intolerable. Harry went down an alley to avoid Jimmy. Go to a street, make a turn, make a few more turns, run down another alley, and come out on the street right where he started. Jimmy was standing there waiting for him. No matter which way Henry went, Jimmy would be waiting for him. Harry never knew how Jimmy did that.

Jimmy gave Harry a puzzled look for a moment, but didn’t have enough working brain cells to put what Harry did into any rational meaning. He did notice Harry staring at his hand, though. His hand? Oh, yeah! Jimmy ran halfway down the alley and then waved for Harry to come down. When Harry got there, Jimmy pulled open the bag he was holding. In it was a bottle of whiskey. Whiskey! Harry looked at that bottle. Whiskey! A whole fifth. Unopened.

As Harry held the bottle, a tiny flicker of a thought kindled in his mind: maybe he could find one of those shelters where they helped guys like him get back on their feet . He wondered if he could talk Jimmy into trading that bottle for the mostly empty wine bottle he had. No, guess not. Jimmy did have enough working brain cells left to figure that as a bad deal. He also might start hollering and yelling. Jimmy sometimes did that even when he didn’t have a reason. Don’t need the cops coming around. No way did Jimmy get that bottle in a way that wouldn’t land them both in jail. Jail was all right, except they made you shower.

Jimmy opened the bottle and took a big swallow. He then let Harry have a swallow. Then Jimmy fell flat on his face. The good stuff was just too much for him. Harry saved the bottle and decided that Jimmy wouldn’t remember it when he woke up. A bottle of whiskey. Boy, what a day this was turning out to be. All he needed now was a woman. The thing is that the only women he knew he didn’t want.

He needed to find a warm place to live until the booze runs out, and he needed to get more. An abandoned building where he could make a small fire. He hopes it didn’t get away from him like that other time. He almost cashed it in that time. Luckily, the fireman spotted him. Luckier still that the fireman couldn’t smell him. He might have left Harry there. Yeah, Harry had to be a little more careful with fire.

Stop at a garbage bin, pick up supper, and get a warm place to sleep. Drink some of this whiskey or maybe all of it. A good night’s sleep and tomorrow is another day for Harry.

“Why sleep in a $2 million home when you can sleep under a $50 million bridge?”

“Hobo clowns are the most dangerous because they’re hungry.” — John LaMarr

“Security? That's just a fancy word for being tied down. I prefer ‘locationally flexible’.”

“I'm not homeless, I'm just in a long-term, all-inclusive vacation with no return ticket.”

“If present at a hobo court and you have testimony, give it. Whether for or against the accused, your voice counts!”

“Do not cause problems in a train yard, another hobo will be coming along who will need passage through that yard.”

“When jungling in town, respect handouts, do not wear them out, another hobo will be coming along who will need them as badly, if not worse than you.”