“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.
This is Part Six of Hobo Joe:
Living in Alabama!
“Hello my good sir,” I said to the dorky-looking clean-cut guy behind the desk. He didn’t look up.
“Hello!” I said again.
He was too busy staring at a computer screen.
And my final attempt, “Uhuummmm, good day, good sir!” louder this time, with a slight cough and an attempt at a British accent. I know I looked like a bum, but I figured if I sounded British, he may give me better service or maybe I was wrong. I hadn’t been to many hotels before.
“How can I help you?” said the nerd in a disgusted voice, finally looking up at me. Probably thinking that I didn’t even have two nickels to throw into a fountain.
“I haven’t slept in a few days so I need a room for a couple a nights. How much will that cost?” I said, dropping the accent.
“Well sir,” he spoke real slowly and to the point, “our rooms range in price between four-hundred and nine-hundred dollars, per night.”
“Oh shit, that’s all?” I said. Not really caring about the cost because I was so tired, “then give me a room that costs four hundred, for three nights.”
I didn’t even know how much money I had exactly, as I didn’t count what Brent gave me.
The pasty dork couldn’t believe his eyes when I pulled out my stack of cash and began to count it out, bill by bill, on top of the elegant wooden countertop between us. My Hobo fingers handed him the dough and he must of thought that I robbed a bank or did some kind of cross-country drug deal or something along those lines hehe.
“There you go brother, where’s the room at?” I said all cocky like.
He took the money with a rude smirk, checked me in, and rang his little desk bell:
“Ding! Ding! Ding!”
From out of nowhere pops out a short, mustached and muscled Latino guy, wearing a red and beige bellhop uniform.
“Rodriguez, take this young gentleman to room number 406!”
“Yes sir,” he proudly proclaimed, grabbing my pathetic backpack with his thick hairy arms.
I went with Rodriguez to the elevator. He must of smelled me cause I had a serious case of BO combined with the rotten mold smell permeating from my bag.
“You first time in Alabama?” Rodriguez asked, looking me up and down with his dark hawk-like eyes.
“Yes. Actually, it’s my first day here and I couldn’t be happier to finally have a bed to sleep on!”
“Well, my fren, welcome to Alabama then! Alabama has the best beches in da country!” Rodriguez said smiling, exposing missing teeth and poor dental care, shaking my hand vigorously with his rough hands. They felt like the paws of an old croc.
“Thank you so much,” I could tell he really meant what he said, but I didn’t understand him completely. “What, the best bitches? You mean the ladies or the beaches?” I said, grinning and chuckling.
“Yes, da best beches!”
I think he was trying to say beaches and either way I was looking forward to meeting the bitches (all the fine ladies) and going to the beaches, but first I needed to fucking sleep!
I got to my new room. It was awesome! It had a big beautiful bed with fluffy white blankets and pillows, a full sized mirror on the wall, a spectacular view of the beaches with lovely bikini-clad babes down below, a bathroom, with a sink, toilet, and shower, and there was even a little fridge filled with hard liquor and snacks!
I gave Rodríguez a tip, “See you around Rodriguez! Hasta la vista!”
He slanted his bellman’s hat to me and with that final statement in Spanish, I closed the door of my room and began to rest my weary Hobo bones…
Day Twenty – Thirty
I woke up about twelve hours later – ready to explore my new environment. I opened the little Alabama fridge, had a few snacks and a couple a shots of tequila, got dressed, walked outside and went to the beach. What a spectacular view! The water had a tropical blue color and tons of activities were going on. Seagulls and pelicans were flying overhead, squawking and searching for food, teenagers – chasing and flirting each other, and some cool-looking kids were surfing the waves. They all had tattoos, lip piercings, funky Mohawk haircuts, and didn’t wear anything except board shorts with big shelled necklaces. I pulled off my shirt, kicked off my sandals and walked towards them…
“What’s up guys?” I said to the young surfer punks.
One of them just flopped onto the shore, landing backwards on his little body board with a hard thud against the sand. The imprint of his board and body immediately pressed into the beach.
They looked at me, a bit irritated. I ruined their surfers’ concentration. This little pack of ten redneck surfer punks stared, sizing me up like everyone seemed to do on my journey, trying to understand from what planet I was from, I assume.
“How’s it going bro?” one of them finally responded.
“Pretty good, I’m staying in the Star Chambers Place Hotel, gonna be there for a few nights. I just got into town yesterday. I did a three-day multi-state bender with this bad-ass trucker named Brent Hill Maker.”
I don’t know why I told them these things but I was trying to impress them and break the ice…
“We drove illegally through six states and we didn’t even get caught because I helped Brent avoid the police and all types of dangers at every cost. It was a fucking fantastic run my friends. My name is Joe by the way, Hobo Joe.”
“Hey, what’s up Joe,” they said. I didn´t know if they understood me, but they seemed to think I was alright.
“You know how to surf man?”
“Not really, but I’m a fast learner.”
“Give it a try then bro!”
I went out to the waves with the guys. They showed me their moves. Some of the surfing was done in the shallow waters where they would skid across smoothly, going as far as possible with one powerful springing thrust.
Others went out to where the waves break. They would catch a wave by jumping on their board at the right moment and ride it back to shore. I watched them do their thing and even saw shark fins in the distance but the boys didn’t show any fear.
All in all, it was pretty fun. The sky’s colors of pink, orange and blue were blending and merging with each other in a visual poem of splendid natural beauty. I watched it and felt the force of the sea underneath my feet. The earth’s energy filled my body once again with an indescribable sensation and I felt obliged to ask the guys:
“Do you dudes toke?”
“Fuck yeah Joe!”
“Well then, look what I got!” I pulled out my stash, all their eyes opened wide and then they led me down to the pier to have a smoke. We sat on the sand, underneath huge wooden barnacle-encrusted planks and lit up our pipes.
“Anyways dudes, the reason why I approached you today is because I’m looking for two things: a job and a place to stay.”
They looked at me, silent for a few long moments and then they started laughing their stoned asses off. Don’t forget my weed is the strongest in the country (possibly the whole world) and they had the giggles like I had never seen. When I mentioned work and housing they couldn’t contain themselves!
“Joe, what the hell is this shit man? I am peeking over here bro!” proclaimed one of the kids in ecstasy.
“It’s good shit right,” I said and took another deep hit, blowing the smoke in Connor, my new friend’s face. A young blond guy with a muscled physique. He loved it and absorbed it all through the pores of his tattooed skin, right to the cellular level.
“Listen, Joe yo, don’t worry man. Listen my man. Are you a hard worker?”
“And you need a place to stay?”
“Well, you can crash at our place for a while. We have our own pad and our own painting business. We paint houses all up and down the coast and we live right up the road over there. Joe, if you share some of your weed with us then you got the job, okay?”
“Awesome, I´ve got plenty to spare and don’t worry, I’m a hard worker!” I was so happy.
After we smoked and talked shit for a while it started to get dark and the sand bugs began to munch on our juicy thc infused flesh. So we left the beach and rode in one of their cars to their beach pad. Driving through the busy streets of the gulf coast, passing restaurants, hotels, shopping centers, and rowdy redneck bars.
It was quite a lively area, especially the restaurants, which seemed to be packed. On our way to my new friend’s house, we stopped in one and bought a few pizzas. I paid for everything cause my pockets were still full of cash.
We got to their house and I was amazed at how they lived. This wasn’t a man cave. It was a full-on man cavern! They had a Bowflex machine in the middle of the kitchen. There was a pool table in the dining room. Water pipes, weed bongs and beer kegs in the living room. Their bedrooms were equipped with three-story-high bunk beds. These kids lived like kings! Doing whatever the hell they wanted to do and answering to no one!
I was impressed at all they had accomplished and at such a young age. They were running their own paint business, living on their own terms, surfing and partying whenever they felt like it. That’s badass! That’s what I wanted in life! We ended up hanging out all night eating pizzas and smoking up with their huge water pipes and vaporizers.
“Guys, thanks so much. I’m going back to the hotel now. I’ll see you’s all tomorrow.”
“Wait a minute there Joe,” said Malcolm, my new buddy.
“What´s that bro?”
Both of us had eyes brighter and redder than ketchup bottles tilted sideways.
“Do you like making trades Joseph?”
“Sure, whatcha’ got man?”
“Let’s say you trade me some of that bomb-ass weed for a few tabs of these,” he stuck out the palm of his hand, displaying three little paper squares and saying, “pure lsd? What´d you say about that my man?”
I had to think for a moment, “Hhhmmmm,” I said, rubbing my noggin slowly for effect, then I said, “Sure, why the hell not?”
We made our little exchange and I headed back to the hotel. I thought of taking it that night but decided to wait for the right moment…
Working with the Guys
The guys picked me up before 7 am and we went out to our first job, which was painting the exterior of a house in a nearby town. It took the whole day to paint and we did an excellent job. There were seven of us out there working on the site. First, we had to prep the walls, clean everything up, sand rough spots, fill in cracks and holes, then we painted.
They knew exactly what they were doing, despite the fact that they looked like grunged-out-punk rockers coming off the stage. They were happy to teach me the tricks of the trade. Like how to open a paint bucket with a pen, how to paint without leaving drips and how to get extra side jobs by pointing out certain defects of the house to the customers. They had a pretty good business going on…
Tripping out at the Beach
One night after a hard day of work I decided to take the acid because I deserved a good mental chill. It was Friday night and all the guys went to Florida for the weekend. I dropped the tabs and started to walk the beach. It was a spectacular night. The waves were crashing against the shore and my mind began to feel the decompression of the sand beneath my feet while the seagulls followed me overhead – watching my awkward movements.
Every breath I took, every step I took, everywhere I looked, everything seemed more alive. More profound and beautiful – you could say. I began to see things as pixels. The buildings along the beach almost took on the form of giant single-blocked Legos. I thought that I might be able to pick one up and place it on top of another, creating my very own immensely-sized Hobo Joe Hotel, where I could invite all my best buds!
I began to laugh as I imagined all these things. My mind wandered further and further from reality and I walked endlessly past hundreds – maybe thousands of beach bums, beach umbrellas, and handsome-handmade beach castles.
I felt joyfully as I walked briskly across the sand looking like a man without a purpose outwardly but with a great inward purpose. This was how I felt. I imagine someone observing me would just see a stoned moron strolling around, tripping out on seashells and what not, but as I strolled and tripped those shells began to speak to me and tell me things:
Mysteries of the sea and mysteries of life. Mysteries of pleasures unknown, but soon to come…
“What? Seriously? I have pleasures awaiting me?”
I was lying on the sand in a weird twisted fetal position. A little hermit crab approached me. He was only a few inches away from my eyeball. I found myself talking to him and he spoke not with sound but through telepathy.
“You will soon experience wonderful pleasures,” he confidently said, lifting up his micro-pincers for effect.
“Well thank you Mr. Crab, I’m not going to argue with you about that my good friend.”
Then he walked toward the ocean. Never to be seen again…
Was he telling me the truth or just bullshitting me? I wondered.
I closed my eyes and imagined what he could have been talking about while spectacular geometric patterns of every color known and unknown flashed about upon the insides of my eyelids in a rapid procession of immaculate beauty.
And then, right when I opened my eyes, I saw them for the first time…
Two girls – wearing bikinis – were walking towards me…
I quickly sat up and tried to look like I wasn’t tripping complete balls, which took every ounce of effort on my part. Should I cross my legs like a yogi or sit up straight like an old monk? I thought. Actually, my thoughts were all mixed up and merging together like fresh delicious fruits in the blender at the juice shack – hut – place. I was really stoned!
As they walked towards me I noticed their pale skin which didn’t look American. Their hairstyles were different. Even the way they walked and carried themselves was unique.
I heard them talking and it was definitely not in English. When they got really close, I knew which language they were speaking and I said, “Kheĭ, kakvo pravish momichetata?” in perfect Bulgarian, which means, “Hey, how are you girls doing?
They replied, “Nie pravim dobro. Govorish li bŭlgarin?”
“Haha, that’s the only phrase I know in Bulgarian! I learned it from my friends from back in the town I grew up in!”
After I said this to them they really warmed up to me.
“So where are you going and what are two beauties like you doing walking around alone in Alabama?”
“We live here.”
“Yes, we are waitresses and tonight we are sick from work.”
“Haha, you don’t look sick.”
“Yeah, we just lie to get night off. Being waitress sucks.”
“I believe you.”
“Well, my name is Joe and I live right up the road. I moved here last week. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“What my acquaintance, how?”
“I mean, nice to meet you.”
“You too. I’m Boyka and she’s Ginka, we’re sisters,” they exclaimed, pointing and smiling to each other, as their feet pressed into the sand in a dazzling way.
“Wow, what beautiful names,” everything they said sounded perfectly lovely to me.
“Girls, I’m going to be honest with you. I am really high right now and when I saw you two walking down the beach towards me I thought that God himself sent you to me to fill my life with pleasures. Know what I mean?”
“What you mean, pleasures? If you want pleasures we show you greatest pleasures tonight in the club. You want go with us?” they asked me. Now on their knees upon the sand looking amazing.
“We go techno club. Very good electro music…”
“Oh that’s perfect, let’s go, I’m in!” I said, absolutely ecstatic.
“Okay, we are going to the house now, but we’ll see you tonight at ten in the club. It’s on Penelope Drive. And bring some of this stuff get you so high, okay?
“Sure, sure I can get you some, no worries!”
I think I met my future wives! I thought to myself. I love foreign babes and they want to get high, this is great! Now I just need to put on some decent clothes. Luckily the guys let me borrow some of their stuff.
I was making it good on my own so far in Alabama. I had money in my pockets, food in my gut, stylish clothes on my frame and acid in my brain. What more could a wandering Hobo ask for?
I washed up, ate a veggie burrito and went out to the club. Still tripping and enjoying the psychedelic buzzz.
The club was sick. It was actually called The Pleasure Place. Maybe that’s why the girls got confused when I said pleasures. Lights were shining all around. I waited outside for my Bulgarian princesses but I couldn’t see them. They were nowhere to be found, so I went in the club.
I got inside and there were people everywhere. The electronic music was blasting. The black lights were on and everybody’s face looked like fluorescent-blue-colored smurfs with elongated noses and big bulging out eyeballs.
I made my way through the crowd, bouncing along as happy as a clam and then I saw her. It was Boyka. She was dancing in the center of the masses on top of a round table. A light shone upon her and her flowing body reflected its beams towards me. She almost resembled an angel as she moved about in perfect harmony with the electronic sounds. Each movement and sensual thrust increased my attraction for her.
The flashing strobe lights synchronized with my lsd mind. The entire room and all its moving figures. The shapes and patterns. They were all falling and dancing from the ceiling to the floor. Moving and flowing together. A gigantic spectacular visual symphony of kaleidoscopic pleasures.
My Bulgarian queen was all alone… perfect.
We immediately started to dance. She moved better than any woman I had ever known. Her body was incredible and she loved to grind in every angle and direction, especially more so after the acid took effect within her adrenaline-charged system. We were like two hummingbirds. Weightless and elegant. Moving together in an erotic way. Sweat-soaked flesh filled with the purest of joys.
Our night of dancing ended with the both of us intertwined upon the hot steaming beaches. Rolling around together with sand in our ears. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. There was nothing like it. I was in love. Ohhh, what a night to be alive!
A few days later I had an awesome conversation with my buddy Malcolm:
“Guess what Joe, remember how you’re always talking about going on adventures and all that? Well, my cousin Jeffrey got bit by a water moccasin yesterday and he died!”
“Wow, that’s terrible, I’m sorry to hear that. What’s a water moccasin?”
“It’s a deadly snake bro and don’t worry about it. No one even really liked him that much so it’s not a big deal. This is a huge opportunity for you because my other cousin big ole’ Billy Bob needs someone to go out to sea with him to make a delivery. So what do you say? Want to go? It’s for about a week. He’s going to the Caribbean.”
“Are you being serious right now? Holy shit, this is good news. I mean not what happened with your poor cousin and the poisonous snake and all, but wow fuck yeah, I’ll go with him! Do you think I can take Boyka and Ginka along?”
“Yeah, probably man. So, it’s settled then. I’ll introduce you to Billy Bob tomorrow!”
And a new adventure for Hobo Joe begins … Click Here to read Part Seven