The Happy Hobo

Last night while we were making dinner, we heard voices rise up from the street.

They weren't angry, drunken voices interspersed with phlegmy hacking and the sound of vomiting, like usual. No, these voices were singing. The tall and the small.* Oh wait...

The singing was kind of old-timey, like bluegrass when it was first getting started. I half expected that if I walked to the window they'd be wearing period costumes and square dancing.**

But I didn't walk to the window because that is almost never a good idea with The Clementina Show. And I had such a lovely, nostalgic image in my head that I was only going to be disappointed when I discovered that the singing was actually coming from a vagrant laying in his own filth, pants mostly pulled down, a half-eaten dead pigeon in one hand.

Instead, we just listened to the happy hobos singing until they drifted off.


*One hundred gold stars for anyone who is with me on what I think is a pretty obscure reference.
**Additional gold stars available if anyone knows of neat square dancing events in San Francisco. I have a feeling that that could be fun.