Homelessexuals

This morning, as I was trying to sleep past noon, there was a hobo argument below my bedroom window. At least, I assumed it was an argument, but it’s always hard to tell, since both the bums had those gruff, raspy voices indicative of hard living, and since neither of them appeared to have much of a handle on their volume control. From what I could decipher, the bums were arguing about who got what share of whatever substance they were ingesting. I couldn’t even tell if Bum One was pushing the substance on Bum Two, or if Bum One thought Bum Two was hogging it.

At one point, I looked outside, and unsurprisingly, the bums looked like typical bums. They were men with dusty, creased skin, a grizzled, unkempt appearance, lots of scars, wild hair, and bad fashion. Bum One looked to be well into his middle years, and Bum Two was downright elderly. I tried to sleep some more, and they kept up their little tirades.

When I didn’t hear them talking, I looked out the window to make sure there were no dead bums in my alleyway. I worried when I saw them sitting down, with Bum Two cradled in the arms of Bum One. Then I realized they were locked in a slobbery, whiskery, drug-addled kiss, with exposed tongue and ropes of saliva flopping about. It lasted for quite a long time, and, while I’m all for man-on-man affection, this display of homosexual homeless lust had ruined my morning. I thought of what that kiss must smell like, and I was awake for the day. And, while I realize that the homeless are virtually forced into making all of their affection a public display, I thought about the maxim that the more likely a couple is to participate in PDA, the less attractive the couple. I concur.