Chuck Mangione and the Guys Who Pee in My Backyard.
For those of you who aren’t regular readers of my blog, you may not about my neighbors: the Hobos.
There’s the Falsely Accused Hobo, the Nicest Peeping Tom Ever! Hobo, the Casino! Hobo, the Hobo Who Loves Buckets, and the Hobo Handyman Who Saved Christmas (my personal favorite!)
Lest you think I’m being unkind, I would readily categorize myself as the Hollywood Writer Hobo. At some point we all had jobs, maybe, sort of, but now we hang around the house in our underwear with no discernable income or purpose. Although occasionally the Hobo Record Club leaves us music on our front lawn.
Say what you will about Hobos, but our Hobos are polite.
Yesterday I returned home from a lunch meeting to discover that a group of them had gathered in the driveway. The Falsely Accused Hobo (FAH) was standing with our Nicest Peeping Tom Ever! Hobo (NPTE!). And another guy that I didn’t recognize.
As I got out of the car, I realized the third member of the trio had an Italian Accent. Apparently part of some Hobo Exchange Program I’m unaware of. FAH confirmed my suspicions when he introduced his friend from Italy.
NPTE!: You’re from Italy?
Hobo Exchange Program Hobo: Yes, yes I am!
NPTE!: I love Italian music!
FAH: What do you listen to?
NPTE!: Only the most famous Italian musician ever!
HEPH: Who’s that?
NPTE!: Chuck Mangione!
What’s your best neighbor story?
I have a neighbor like that but he’s french.
now see I told your other half i could translate the hobos if they’re french, but i don’t speak italian.
Between here & your regular blog- you have the best hobo stories EVER! My old apartment in Vancouver had one but all he did was yell and bash his cart into the dumpster. (at 4 am) Every. Single. Night.
I would like a singing hobo (SH) for my front lawn…know where I can get one?
We used to have some fairly polite hobos at our old apartment. When I would tell that it wasn’t cool to sleep in the stairwell below my front door they’d apologize, thank me, and shuffle on their way.
The cat people were far more interesting. There was the girl below us who used to walk her cat, although it was obvious to everyone within viewing distance that the poor cat did not want to be walked.
Next door, they had a fat, creepy, mangey black cat that would crawl into our windows and watch us while we were undressing. Then it would follow up the creepy voyeurism by beating up our cat… and our dog. I think it was just angry because its owners made it wear a giant purple bow around its neck.