THE HAY DAY OF THE HOBO
The long lonely wail of a train whistle woke me at 6:30 this morning.
I thought that I should have gotten used to it by now. They hit the horn at every RR crossing on every street and are only about eight blocks away. So kinda loud.
We have two granite quarries here in Columbia and the trains of stone are travelling twice or more a day. Pretty neat holes in the ground, but still need trains to get the stuff moved.
In my half delirium before waking and listening to the horns, my mind drifted to what it would be like to just jump one of those freight cars and wander to wherever it led. I guess the hay day of of the "Hobo" was back in the real depression of the 30's, where folks so needy of jobs and out of money would just jump a freight to wander the country. Come to think of it, maybe I should jump a couple just for practice and in case!
Of course today we couldn't call them Hobo's. Not politically correct you know. Would just destroy their self esteem you know. Maybe "Job deprived wanderers" would be more correct. Or "Displaced persons of non-descriptive origins without sexual orientation or definition who are the downtrodden because of an oppressive society not of their doing". Or whatever BS deemed appropriate by some bureaucratic dunce at the lame stream media. C'mon sheeple feel sorry for those guys and gals who have to ride the rails.
But think of it.
The freedom and all.
No job to commute to. No boss on a power trip to deal with. No worry about whether the next paycheck would make it in time. No strings of responsibility for anyone or anything. Health care taken care of by a benevolent taxpayer. At least until they run out of money too. Need a drink, just go out and panhandle. Need a meal....collect your food stamps. Then get back on the next cross country and ride off into oblivion. Freedom to destroy yourself! Or maybe actually find a job somewhere over the rainbow!
What a life that must have been.
We're close to the Congaree River where a number of lost souls seem to congregate during the warmer weather. Like the Hobo's of yesteryear. Yea, they're dirty, smelly and probably a little "Off", but they have no responsibility but to themselves to go out and find the next meal. I don't know whether Hemingway did that kind thing, but it would have been something he or Jack London would have done just to expand their library of experiences.
God, I should have just rolled over and gone back to sleep.
Now I gotta go to work.
Responsibilities you know.
To myself at the very least.
Here's lookin at ya Wilbur!
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