Coming out of CVS pharmacy this morning, I was approached by a hobo in a 3-piece suit. He was wearing slacks, a vest, and a sport coat, but it was all mismatched. He started telling me this story about how he was a hungry retired veteran. He told me that he was in the Army and held the rank of 04 Major (his words), but that he had some legal trouble, had been reduced in rank to 03 and had been dishonorably discharged.
It was the fucked-up-est story I had ever heard. Before CVS, I had been to the grocers, so I offered him a potato. He had earlier said that he was hungry, but he didn't want a potato. I told him that if he didn't want a potato, he could carry his ass up the street.
Note to hoboes. Don't tell a retired Army Major that you were dishonorably discharged. I got no time for you. But I will offer you a potato.
A couple of summers ago, I was parked on Main Street in Manchester, CT for a motorcycle meet up and ride. I always get there early and go across the street to Center Perk for a coffee and breakfast sammich. I was sitting on the stone wall eating my breakfast when a middle-aged woman staggered up to me. She asked me for $20 because she was hungry. I told her she wasn't getting any money, but to come across the street with me to the restaurant and order whatever she wanted and as much as she wanted. Of course she refused, so I told her "that's what I thought. Get lost." Directly across the street is The Salvation Army, where she could get all kinds of help, but she'd rather have the bottle or the fix.
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