When I grow up, I want to be…
a hobo! (aka wineo, bum, drunk)
No really!!!
The life of a hobo, as witnessed by me:
Picture the scene as I skip to work through the delightful horseshoe common… the wind blowing gently through my hair… with squirrels scuttling around burying their nuts for winter… the birds singing their morning melodies… I see the wineos awakening, stumbling… bleary early eyed of a morning…
Then at lunch time, as I stroll home I see these colorful characters looking happy, greeting each other and sharing a bottle of sherry (honestly, they seem to all drink sherry?!)…
and then, once more through the park I travel in the evening, on my way home… to see these happy-go-lucky (muttering-go-smelly more like…) fellows (and ladies) enjoying a gentle slumber amidst the grass… the benches… the bushes… and even on the path… ah how I envy the simplicity of their daily routine…
How good does this sound!?
1) Get up, when you wake up, every day being a suprise – “which bloody bush is this?”
2) Stumble around a bit, scrape/beg (steal?) together enough money to buy sherry… hardly taxing…
3) Meet up with all your mates for a good ol’ chat in the park
4) Consume Sherry till you pass out
No stress, no worries, no hassle (no liver)
Lucky buggers…
“If all the world were insane, and you my friend were the only true sane man, how would you appear unto the world?”
