Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #33)

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

By Daniel Canada c.2010

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

PERSONALITIES OF THE HOMELESS (Continued)

 

 

 

INSPECTOR GADGET Duh duh duh duh duh duh...Well, you know how the rest of the tune goes. Yeah, I’m talking about the tune to the 90’s cartoon "Inspector Gadget." If you'll recall the trench coat Inspector Gadget wore, you'll have a pretty close idea of what the homeless guy I call “Inspector Gadget” looks like. “Inspector Gadget” has developed the particular predilection of storing his personal items in the confines of his trench coat. So much so, that his trench coat is exceedingly bloated to ridiculous proportions. There are pockets protruding out of his sides like mini-shopping bags on all sides. 

It's truly a sight to see, I tell you.

“Inspector Gadget” doesn't like to be around people and crowds too tough. And, unfortunately, the feeling is mutual. Call it agoraphobia or lack of self-esteem, masked in too much bravado, “Inspector Gadget” has it. Somehow he comes off as if he feels he’s above everyone and it all, and brags out loud about how important his father is, that his father is some kind of important diplomat, or something. 

Sounds familiar, doesn't it? Like Brad Pitt in the movie "The Twelve Monkeys?" Huh?

Look, it's hard enough trying to get by, from day-to-day, out here in the concrete jungle. Don't complicate your life, like “Inspector Gadget,” by clasping on needlessly to numerous possessions. Remember, you don't own a goddamn thing out here, save your ass, buddy. So travel lightly, and carry as little as is needed. It's very easy to fall into the snare of stuffing your pockets and carry-along-bags with a bunch of needless accessories, like poor ole "Inspector Gadget."  

And if your father’s a rich and important figure, call him and have him send you a few bucks. No! Believe it or not, the reason I mention this, is because I actually ran into some homeless individuals who come from wealthy families, whose parents have quite a lot of money, in whom they call once and a while to have a few shekels sent to them via Money Gram, and what not.

They had a big fall out with their family and decided to kick it hardcore to the curb and come out here into the tangled wilderness of the streets with the rest of us humps. If you fit this bill, straighten your shit out with your overbearing relatives and get the hell of the street ASAP.

Otherwise, heed this piece of advice: While you're out here, keep a light heart about yourself. Take life one day at a time, like an aspirin.

It'll go a long ways.

 

(To be continued...)