Hobo Sign - GoF! LbNA # 58945
|Placed Date||Jul 31 2011|
|Location||???, ???, PA|
|Found By||??? |
|Last Update||Sep 15 2013 |
Spiny Victor Stengal peered left, than right. He was a long way from his home in Norfolk, Virgina, and even Birmingham and Houston were a long way behind him. Had the chariot swung low and brought him here? It didn't seem right, somehow, but how was a poor boy like him to know the difference?
Here was what he did know, though, he had what looked like the back half of a t-bone steak he had liberated from a nearby charcoal grill and a powerful hunger to satisfy. He just needed to get back where he could have some peace and quiet, away from prying eyes, especially those of the steak's previous owners. He headed down the road a bit until he could turn off on a trail into the woods.
He blinked as he looked at the sign, but it stayed the same. He didn't know if it was hunger, or maybe the remnants of last night's Sterno cocktail, but he'd never seen a sign about little falls before. They were better than big falls, he reckoned, and so he went on down the trail.
Down a steep decline he came to a bridge – it looked a little too open for his tastes and off to the right the trail continued on. So he didn't cross the bridge and went down to the right. There were still a lot of people wandering by - where in the blue blazes was he going to find a place to eat? His stomach grumbled, as loud as the water rushing by next to him. He stumbled over roots on the ground and through a rocky mire. Finally, as the noise of the water grew larger, he came to another bridge. He reckoned if he crossed it the trail would just lead him back to where he started, and that was no good at all. He stepped to the edge of the bridge and thought.
Finally, Spiny squinted off to the northeast – well, maybe 3 degrees north of northeast - and started walking off to where it looked less busy. Five, ten, 20 paces, he found himself at the base of a good-sized tree. He slid around to the other side, it was quieter here but still not quiet enough. He struck off, this time about 33 degrees closer to due east for another seven paces. Another big tree, this one even further from the water and the hikers. A quick reconnoiter found that around the backside of the tree was a natural seat, the perfect place for his dinner. A couple of suspicious-looking rocks flanked the seat, but those were easily moved.
Salivating, Stengal reached into his sack and pulled out the cloth-wrapped steak. Time to finally satisfy his hunger! As he wrapped a napkin around his neck, he thought he might mark this spot with the hobo code. He pulled out some chalk and considered what he might leave - “Here is the place” or “Good water?” As he thought, he heard a rustling down the path. An intruder, when all he wanted was a good meal! Cautiously he poked his head around the tree looking to see if this was another hiker or the law. It wasn't either, though, unless the hikers around here were 500 pounds, snuffled along the ground following the scent of food, and were covered in black fur. He knew it was time to leave his dinner behind and jet out of there, but almost by reflex, he first chalked the one hobo sign he knew now was the most appropriate -