The hobo who told me my fly was down on Ste Catherine by le Faubourg.
He approached my brother and I asking for a cigarette. I don't smoke or carry cigarettes, so I wasn't much help. He told me that my fly was down. It was, down; and then, so was I, spiritually. We started walking, and he told me that if I wanted to I could come work for him anytime I wanted.
I'm weighing the option. The trouble is I always thought hoboes got to be their own boss. I don't like the idea of tramping on assignment. It sounds like a heartless Journal de Montréal exposé.
Ride a Ripple on Over
6 years ago