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


Wikipedia’s definition of the word Hobo:

hobo is a migrant worker or homeless vagrant, especially one who is impoverished. The term originated in the Western—probably Northwestern—United States around 1890. Unlike a “tramp”, who works only when forced to, and a “bum”, who does not work at all, a “hobo” is a traveling worker.




Who is Hobo Joe?

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

Joe is a young guy who recently 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 Two – The Crow

Part Three – Welcome to Amish Country

Part Four – The Game Master

Part Five – The Brent Hill Keeper Job

Part Six – Living in Alabama!

Part Seven – On The Boat With Billy Bob


This is Part One of Hobo Joe:


Day One – The Departure

She looked at me from across the messy living room with big bloodshot eyes. The tears pouring down her face, her body rapidly shaking, and the sound of my father’s voice was like violent crashing thunder permeating the entire house, shaking its very foundations. I knew at that moment that there were only two choices in front of me: fight him in a Man-to-Man Deathmatch or leave forever.

I looked at the beads of sweat on my dad’s brow and the green veins bulging out and pulsating within his thick neck, and then grabbed my shit as fast as I could before he ripped me apart!

“!!!YOU BETTER GET EVERYTHING, WE DON´T WANT YOU TO COME BACK HERE EVER AGAIN YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT, THIS IS THE LAST FUCKING TIME!!!” he raged on like a psychotic character from a horror flick with smoke and fury radiating from his entire being. I wanted to kick him in the face but tried to breathe and control myself before we started a huge brawl and damaged the house even more – barely repressing my inner ferocity. I still respected my caring mother and didn’t want to fight in front of her.

I didn’t cry, but I had no idea where I was going to go or what I was going to do. All my friends lived with their parents and I didn’t feel welcome to stay with any of them. Anyways, most of them were losers and assholes and were the main reason I was in this horrible mess in the first place.

My mind raced simultaneously through every possibility I could think of while I grabbed my stuff from my bedroom, which was in total disorder. There were colorful clothes including some girl’s underwears spread all about randomly on top of the broken tossed-over furniture and stained floors. Stale food scraps sitting on shattered glass plates, along with several empty bottles of cheap whiskey, littered the sad disastrous space, like debri left over after a category five hurricane. Ahhhhh this room was the site of many wild parties, I inhaled deeply taking in the aroma of my memories for the last time. I reached behind my dresser’s inner compartment where I hid my drugs, pulled out my stash, stuffed it in my backpack along with some clothes and camping gear and hit the road.

Fuck him.

I´ll show him and everyone else that I can do it on my own, I don’t need anybody.

I kissed my mum and spit on my dad’s red raging face.

He didn’t even move. His skin was so hot that the saliva began to sizzle and steam into the air. His eyes were the eyes of a furious demonic beast, but he stood still and let me pass unharmed. Thank God!

At 2:30 PM, July 1st I left my family. I left my home. I left my old life.

Now, I’m known as Hobo Joe.

My shoes had holes in them, my clothes were not particularly stylish or fashionable, my backpack was all worn out and beat up, I was completely ill-prepared for this new miserable journey but I had no other choice. I left, turning my back on my parents, seeing them for the last time.

In my mind, I started to hear the sound of the most depressing music imaginable playing on repeat. Again and Again and Again. Miserable Note after Miserable Note as I stepped outside and walked towards the mountains; it was sunny overhead. But the bright sun did not help to shine upon my gloomy spirit, this would be impossible because I was immersed in the darkest of emotions. I heard the muffled sounds of my mom crying and yelling at my dad through the closed doors of my old home.

A few neighbors were peeking their nosy heads through their windows, I felt their eyes heavily watching my every move. They knew what happened, they knew I didn’t get along with my family, they knew I was a crazy hippy and I liked to throw all-night parties every chance I got. Well not anymore, now I’m on my own and need to find new places to party ASAP!

I didn’t even want to tell any of my friends what happened to me. They were all drunks and druggies and probably couldn’t help with anything even if they wanted to. I mean I love to get high just as much as the next guy but my friends always break the threshold and bash through the gates with insane doses of madness and mayhem! Maybe I’ll call ’em later when I figure out what the fuck I’m going to do but until then I need to figure this out on my own.

I walked through my suburban neighborhood and straight into town.

I stopped, sat on a bench, and ate a little bit of granola that I had. All the townspeople walked past me. Everyone looked normal and content, preoccupied with their own lives, each person living in their own little world completely unaware of anyone else. I sat there with the entire weight of the world on my shoulders, and no one knew what I was going through.

I wasn’t about to tell anyone either, I was a proud little bastard!

I got up and continued to walk towards the mountains surrounding my town. They were a few miles away. In a couple of hours, I´d set up camp and look for some water.

I reached the foothills, they were covered in trees and other vegetation. I could have gone up on the main trail but I decided to push in through the bush and make my own trail. I didn’t want to go too deep into the woods; I just needed to create a safe refuge for the night, then I would go to town and get supplies the next day.

My mind and body were filled with the strongest emotions that I had ever felt. As I struggled through the bush, as each tree branch brushed against my heavy casted-out body, I thought about all the people I knew. I thought about all the knowledge I had. I contemplated everything that I was and all my life’s experiences; I thought of it all. I asked myself, Who am I? What is my essence? How will I survive this new chapter? What am I truly made of?

I didn’t know the answers, but I was keen to find out. The ground was moist and I saw some insects that I knew were edible. I brushed the dirt off the wriggling creatures and threw them into my pockets. I guess all those years watching Bear Grylls on TV has paid off. I always wondered how those things tasted. They can’t be as disgusting as he makes them out to be haha.

There were some large boulders ahead amongst the trees. I looked around and found a suitable spot to camp for the night; it would have to do. I wouldn’t get wet if it rained, and there was a slight natural lean-to formation within the rocks. I searched for some dry leaves to make my bed and kindling to start a small fire. Luckily I had a little cooking pot and matches. I collected water from a nearby creek and purified it over the flames.

This was how I spent my first night out, alone in the woods; munching on nasty bugs that tasted like soft gritty flesh and drinking dirty water. It was pathetic, but at least I would stay warm and dry. Tomorrow I will explore and make a plan – Tonight I rest and dream and wait for the morning light to shine upon my improvised Hobo refuge.

As I laid upon the soft crumpled leaves and smooth stones, listening to all the natural sounds of the forest, my mind began to wander and I felt a fire in me that burned even stronger than the intense fury that I saw in my father’s eyes earlier that day.

Is it possible that I have a fury that rages even deeper, darker and stronger than that of my fathers?


Thanks for reading folks, click Here to read Part Two of Hobo Joe!

Charles DuFont

Creator of Tripoart, the best art promotion site!

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