“Not all those who wander are lost.” J. R. R. Tolkien


Who is Hobo Joe?

Hobo Joe is a fictional series that will be appearing periodically on Tripoart.com

Joe is a young guy who got kicked out of his family’s house because his terribly chosen friends stole and destroyed many of his dad’s favorite irreplaceable possessions during one of the most insane parties of Joe’s young life. Now he has to learn to live and survive on his own. He’s smart and resourceful but also likes to live life like a wild man.

Where will Joe’s journey take him next?!


This series is based on survival, partying and the interesting and whacked out characters encountered during Joe’s travels. It is filled with adult themes, therefore it may contain vulgarity, drug/alcohol use, and sexual scenarios. Please don’t continue to read if you are easily offended by this type of content.


Part One – The Departure

Part Two – The Crow

Part Three – Welcome to Amish Country

Part Four – The Game Master

Part Six – Living in Alabama!

Part Seven – On The Boat With Billy Bob


This is Part Five of Hobo Joe:


Day Sixteen to Nineteen – The Brent Hill Keeper Job

Brent Hill Keeper

Brent Hill Keeper,

Brent Hill Keeper!

That name. His name. It echoed in my consciousness as we crashed through the American landscape. A juggernaut of metal and mysterious goods, which for the life of him, he would not reveal. I would ask, “Come on, just tell me what we’re hauling back there!” And his response was always the same, “Shut up and keep your eyes peeled for the coppers!”

“I am, and I’ve been operating this stupid radio like you asked me to but why can’t you tell me, huh?”

“Joe, it doesn’t matter!” he growled and raised the volume on the stereo, gradually turning the black knob, and with each not-so-subtle click, the metal or whatever that ghastly sound was, blasted out and into my ear canal, violating me with something I imagine only the darkest, most despicable and insidious working ghouls from the lowest trenches of Hades itself would dare listen to and pray tell actually enjoy!

We’ve been riding for a day or longer and I have definitely lost track of time, most common sense and basic motor skills. Brent pulled over and I was filling the gas tanks manually and I spilled a shitload of gasoline on myself by accident!

“What the fuck! Brent!” I yelled, when the plastic container slipped out from my hands, smashing onto the pavement, shattering in half and blasted me with a big splash of petrol! All over my pants and shirt, I was drenched!

“Brent, look what I did!” I cried, “We can’t go on, I need to change my clothes!”

He rushed towards me from the other side of the truck, tossing his lit cigarette behind him with a quick flick of the wrist, “Joe, you’re a fucking idiot. We can’t stop now, we need to ride. Hurry the hell up, fill the tanks and finish what you’re supposed to do. Move Oon Man!”

“Yes Sir!” I shouted, girding my loins, and manipulating the tubing as Brent taught me to do. I filled it up as fast as I could and hopped back in the truck, reeking like the Devil Himself.

“Brent, I’m really sorry about wasting your gas,” I cried.

“Don’t worry about it kid. It’s only gas. I got a whole load of it and you, you just have to be more careful, that’s all. I don’t want you to blow yourself up out here while we’re on duty, know what I mean?” he said with a casual snicker.

“Yes, I will be more careful for now on, I’ll try,” I said, relieved that he wasn’t upset with me…

The sun was about to break over past the horizon. The trees began to change color from dark black to dark green. The lush foliage became visible for the first time in I don’t even know how long. Maybe since we left Ohio. We came upon this new state which was a new land for me and further from home than I’ve ever been. The pink and orange hues impregnated the sky with a splendid glory-filled beauty. But it was a beauty which neither of us could stop to appreciate or even mention. Dedicating every fiber of our existence to the road, to caution, to constantly looking over our backs for dangers and perils. Two men on a mission. Nothing matters, nothing at all, except the task at hand…

Well… almost nothing:

“Joe, you ever been to a strip club before?” Brent asked me, waiting for an answer…

“No, I haven’t been. I am, I’m curious about them though, but I’m underage you know. I’ve always wanted to visit the clubs and once some friends and I tried to sneak into one. We posed as an electrical company work unit. We went to the club that was in our town and we said that the sound system needed to be maintained inside the club. One of my friends used to work for an electrical company at the time, so we had all the tools and gear and so on and what not and when the bouncers saw us there looking like a bunch of…”

He became impatient with my blabbering and interrupted me, “Joe, wow… really a great story… Now, shut the hell up and get ready to party!”

It was 7 AM and I couldn’t imagine what type of establishment would be open at this hour, offering stripping services to a couple of truckers. Him: tall and scary as hell, looking like a Viking Trucker Warlord, the Keeper of the Hill in the Flesh. And me: an underage, greasy looking Hobo kid, dressed in gasoline-soaked rags and reeking of a nasty accumulation of B.O. and moldy fungus…

“Joe, don’t worry about what you look like. We are paying customers and I’ve been coming here for years. In fact, this is one of the best clubs in the country. You’re going to find out why in about two minutes!”


(To read about Hobo Joe’s incredible first experience in a Strip Club and find out the meaning of Brent’s middle and last names, please click Here!)


“Holy sweet nipple butter Brent! That was awesome, I had no idea women could contort their bodies like that!”

“Yeah man, now you know what it’s all about. And those new clothes of yours are lookin good.”

The owner of the club lent me some clothes. All black threads, covered with goat skull motifs. Pretty bizarre looking actually. I was starting to look more like a trucker as the hours past. I guess the patrons leave behind clothes and other stuff after they make a mess of everything and fill their lives with amazing sessions of unimaginable pleasures. But alas, the fun times were over and we were getting closer to the end of the road…

The coffee, the coke, the adrenaline and speed coursed through every one of our veins. We rushed so fast over the bulging land that my thoughts and memories began to cross paths, like unplugging electrical wires and sticking them in sockets where they didn’t belong. Certain currents too weak, and others charged by a super-high-voltage with a maddening effect. We went far past a level of exhaustion and plateaued at a gorge of manic and blissful awareness. My mind began to flash with images of everything we saw and have seen along the expansive ways. Letters on signs started to resemble numbers as they whipped past our periphery. The road looked more like a winding river. The truck felt as a ship. Rushing over along the grey ever-flowing concrete. An elongated and swift moving wonder. Was it moving beneath or us from above? The feeling of ecstasy could not be denied, but the terror of being caught for our illegal activities, or crashing the ship into an enormous heap of rubble was always a concern, at least for me it was. And in a way, my entire life flashed before my eyes in that chromed ship. And somehow – – I felt invincible, despite the uncertainty that I was living in…


Later on…


“Joe, wake up man, we’re in Alabama! You’ve been sleeping for hours, look at that!”

“Sorry, I must have dozed off,” I said, wiping the drool from my chin, rubbing my sore eyes and seeing a gorgeous beach ahead, stretching for as far as I could see. Modern buildings, a bright sun, and tanned beach bodies were everywhere.

“Yeah, you did, but I didn’t want to wake you. You deserved a break. And I know all the cops in Alabama, so we’ve been in the clear for hundreds of miles now…”

As he rambled on a group of college-aged kids ran across the street, barely passing our front grill, yelling something that I couldn’t make out and leaping across like brisk gazelles. Brent honked the big horn at them!


“Boom! – Boom!”


“You little punks HaHa!” he yelled and laughed manically. “You see those kids Joe. All they do is come down here to party. They are lots of fun!”

“Wow, that’s great!” I said, grinning at all the amazing sites.

Looking out over the sun-kissed landscape, the light reflecting off the pristine ripples of the gulf, listening to a different tune; not that never-ending death metal sound, but this time Brent had on Lynyrd Skynyrd and the song went like this:


Sweet Home Alabama

Where the skies are so blue

Sweet Home Alabama

Lord, I’m coming home to you


It was the final light – at the end of the tunnel. The road was almost going to stop moving and rest would finally come…


“There’s one more thing we have to do Joe.”

“What’s that Brent?”

“We need to unload the truck!”

We pulled up to a big department store which received the shipment.  We made it right on time. Thank goodness. Brent was very happy, slapping his hands and snapping his fingers sporadically as he parked the vehicle.

”Let’s do it!”

We got to the back of the beast and when the door lifted up with a loud chug, chuggy, clanky, clank sound I couldn’t believe my eyes – – – the whole truck was filled from floor to ceiling with women’s hygienic products!

“What the hell!” I yelled, “We risked our lives and sanity for this! Brent, they’re just tampons, what’s the big deal! Why did we have to rush for this?”

“Joe, calm down, quiet down you moron!” he hushed at me exclaiming, “They’re not just tampons. They are filled with drugs. You see, the shipment gets dropped off at the coast of Canadia via submarines and our job is to bring it down here to party central, capeesh? Anyways Joe, it doesn’t matter what the product is. What matters is that it’s here and on time. Now shut the hell up and start unloading! Jump in there and pass everything to me gaaad dammit!”

I climbed in, rolling my eyes and swearing underneath my breath. Surrounded by a million drug-infused female plugs – – – What the hell!

I passed him the boxes. One by one, and after a few hours we finished the freakin job. Three days of misery and it was almost complete!




Alabama definitely had a different vibe to it than any other place I’ve ever been. The men proudly walked around without shirts or shoes on. The women wore tight-ass bikinis and high-heeled sandals. The children were extremely hyperactive and ran around squealing up and down the sidewalks with their arms waving about. And the sun was so hot that my body was soaked in sweat the moment I stepped out of the truck…

Brent dropped me off on the beach in front of the Star Chambers Place Hotel. He said, “This is a good place for a young man like yourself, lots of hot babes and good seafood to be eaten.”

I was sad to part ways. Brent taught me so much about life on the road. I will be eternally grateful to him. Plus the parties we had were almost as insane as some of the parties I used to throw back home…

“This is it buddy, thanks again for your help. If you ever need a job or just want to cross the country again, then you can ride with me or I’d recommend you to any of my colleagues or associates. Here, take this Joe,” he pulled a big lump of cash from out of his jacket.

“That looks like a lot of money Brent, I don’t need that much! I´m just a Hobo.”

“Wait, wait a minute now Joe. You worked your ass off for three days. You earned this money. And this cash is also buying secrecy. Do not tell anyone. I repeat, anyone in the whole fucking world what we did. You understand?”

“Yes, of course, Brent, don’t worry.”

“Good! Then take this money and have fun in Gulf Shores brother!”

And with that, he tipped his black-rimmed hat towards me, faced his dark shades towards the sunny horizon, jumped up into his big dark truck and drove away. To the next job I guess – I never saw him again after that…


I stood on the busy street by the beach smiling, with a thick wad of crisp bills in my front pocket. I hadn’t slept in days, except for that one little nap. I walked past the fancy cars in the parking lot of the hotel. Cadillacs, BMW’s, Jaguars, you know the type. Went through the dual automatic sliding glass doors. Immediately feeling the comfortable air-conditioned air when I stepped inside. Enormous flower arrangements were set up about the place atop elegant metallic tables with glass tops. Little puffers and yellow-spotted eals swam around white coral rocks in loops within an enormous tropical fish tank that was installed in the center space of the main foyer. And lots of people, young and old alike, were all running about, getting ready to go to the beach, with snorkeling goggles and plastic shot cups dangling from their sandy necks, while the uniformed bellmen carried big bulks of luggage on their shoulders around the lobby area. These diligent employees won’t be getting much work from yours truly as I still only have my one pathetic worn-out-old backpack…

And the Hobo Saga continues … Click Here to read Part-Six


Note: This story is entirely fictitious, if it does resemble any type of actual trucking activity in the real world then it is only by coincidence!


Charles DuFont

Creator of Tripoart, the best art promotion site!

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