The Last Croak

Hoboman II - The Bubble

"To spend your whole life in fulfillment of a dream, only to have it dashed in an instant, and perverted forever, is sad" — Robert Armstrong

A fly ascended from the freshly squeezed cow dung. With invisible wings it traversed the aromatic billows of stench rising from the refuse sources below. Savoring the smells, it was soon overcome with desire and descended towards a midden of banana peels, discarded diapers, phlegm soaked tissues, and other morsels. For a brief moment, the fly landed on a balding man's glabrous crown leaving trace amounts of dung in its wake. When swished away, the fly then alighted on its primary target, joining the crowd to feast on some putrefied banana remains.

The balding man was the driver of a gasoline truck, making a routine stop at a nondescript gas station on the side of the highway to replenish the station's dwindling supplies. The driver had been tasked with placing a sticker on each of the pumps in a prominent position so customers could benefit from its message. The sticker represented the final delusion and life's work of some nameless bureaucrat deep within the bowels of the federal government, struggling in vain to justify her existence. The truck driver dutifully, yet perfunctorily, began his task by placing a sticker on the nearest pump but then got distracted by several crickets hopping nearby and had to go stomp on each and every one of them, giving in to an urge he had no control over. After a few moments, he returned to the truck, finished filling the tanks, and was on his way again, completely forgetting about the remaining stickers. As he drove away the sheets of stickers fell from the wheel well where he had placed them and where scattered by the winds into the heathland where they were muddied, defiled, and rendered worthless. A lady's life-long dream, passion, and reason for living were thus permanently ended that day. Although false hope remained for a few weeks, that delusion withered and was soon extinguished completely.

The sticker on the pump stood out for a few days , but soon merged with the surrounding dirt and grime. Only a view customers even tried to read the sticker, but its message was forgotten as soon as it was read. Quite unintentionally, the color, font, and wording of the message were combined in such a way that prevented it from making any impression whatsoever on a reader's brain. It had absolutely no impact on anyone's life and its distribution was far short of its target, reaching only one of the targeted twenty gas stations across the country in this initial trial run. This solitary sticker was almost entirely ignored, but ironically, it did attract one person's attention and that person could not read.

Hoboman, who was on his never-ending journey to nowhere, passed by the gas station every few months. Today, as he came upon the gas station, although it was covered with dirt and no longer stood out from its surroundings, Hoboman noticed the sticker on the pump. He walked over to get a closer look. He had no idea what it said but he noticed a small bubble on the otherwise smooth, flat surface. Hoboman, who was beguiled by the ordinary, was immediately captivated. A faint but steadily growing susurrus reached out from the bubble, grabbed his mind and started sucking upon his soul. That's when his world ended and time stopped.

Customers noticed and stared. A small crowd had gathered at one point but Hoboman was oblivious to them. Later that day, Hoboman merged with the quotidian landscape and vanished from human consciousness. New customers, noticing at some level that no one paid him the slightest attention, did the same. Hoboman was perfectly hidden in plain sight. Then, hours later, and for no apparent reason, he emerged from the bubble and started walking towards the highway. A young lady who was pumping gas at the time, screamed when he abruptly entered her consciousness. She had tuned him out of her world and his abrupt entry had startled her immensely. Hoboman did not react. Long ago he became deaf to the screams of others since they occurred so frequently. Plus, he could never be sure if the screams came from within or without. Once back on the shoulder of the highway Hoboman continued his journey to nowhere.

Over the coming years, Hoboman was a frequent guest of the bubble until he could visit no more. The sticker faded over time from the constant pounding of the sun and rain. After a decade had passed, the words on the sticker were camouflaged in craquelure but the little pocket of air remained undisturbed, except by the imagination of a homeless itinerant with no name.