His name is Smokey

I’ve noticed a new bum in town lately. Opps, sorry. I meant to say homeless person. That was very unP.C. of me. My son calls them hobos. After spotting several of them digging food out of the trash we started leaving our edible leftovers on the corner of the dumpster. He calls that our “offering to the hobos.”

Anyway, the first time I spotted this homeless man I wasn’t sure if he was really homeless or just an odd looking man. He always wears a tropical shirt neatly tucked into his khacky shorts and he carries a bowling ball bag. He has long frizzy hair and a beard. He kind of looks like some crazy college professor, or one of the many burned out hippies I used to see at Grateful Dead shows. I didn’t really know for sure he was homeless until I walked into the AM/PM and stood behind him at the counter. His shoes were taped to his feet and he smelled like one giant stinky ass. My eyes started to water.

As he walked away the clerk pulled out a can of air freshener and began to spray the air. “He may not mind smelling like that,” he said to me, “But that don’t mean I have like it.”