The Saga of the Homeless Oak Ridge Boy (Part III)

The homeless guy that throws trash at me every morning wasn't there when I came out of my house today.

I'm hoping I didn't scare him off with all that talk about The Oak Ridge Boys last week. He's been a fixture of my routine for the last few months, and it'd be a shame if he's gone for good.

Of course, it's been really hot here the last few days, so maybe he's just been working nights. I'm sure there's plenty of night trash and tons of night people at whom to throw it. I just hope he remembers to fill out his time sheet correctly.

He's probably shacked up during the hot hours of the day. There's an old building down the street that used to be a gas station. At least I think it used to be a gas station. It has a "car port" thing covering what could have been gas pump bays at one time. And the main building resembles a small store/garage. But the place is far too crumbled for me to be sure.

Anyway, I've seen -- gosh, I don't even know what to call the guy. Mr. Homeless Man? Slog Tosser? Trashy McOakridge? I don't know -- but I've seen him down at the old building, socializing with a few of his acquaintances on occasion. They gather and drink wine or rummage through one of the two shopping carts that a particularly industrious companion of theirs pushes around all day. Oh, and one of them has a couple of dogs.

The odd thing is, they usually seem to be in deep discussion when gathered at the old gas station, though I can't imagine what they could be talking about. If it weren't for the dirt, grime, and tattered clothing, they could very well be the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. Or perhaps the Justice League, debating over how to deal with Braniac and his invading forces. (Sorry, I've been watching C-SPAN and the Cartoon Network all weekend.)

But even though these people appear just some pajamas and a cape away from being super heroes, I know they're probably just sharing stories about plastering some yutz with trash every morning. Hey, it's sure as hell what I'd be telling all my friends down at the abandoned gas station or in a blog entry or something, were I so inclined.

By the way, remember the black hoses at gas stations that would "DING" when you rolled over them? With all the self-serve stations, you don't see those much anymore.

I think I'd like to have one of those hoses at the door to my office. I would always know when someone enters, and at the same time, really scare the crap out of the poor bastard coming in. Perhaps I should check eBay.