HOBO: is a migratory worker or homeless vagabond, often penniless.

More and more, this starts to define me.

Luckily, I never had a thing for labels.

If only I knew Karate.

Anyways, the reason I bring this up: all the children at the theatre call all the bums, 'hobos'.

(A term I unfortunately started during one of the summer camps.)

See, the theatre is in a shitty part of town. The theatre is gated, and the kids are not allowed to go outside. Bums sleep on the grass out front. One of the few Las Vegas lawns that the city has to offer.

Needless to say, its fun to people watch.

Like today. Today I met "Moustafa".

I'm instantly taken back to my Disney childhood.

Now, Moustafa was from Africa. (The irony runs thick here).

He was looking for the library.

Now the Las Vegas Library, boys and girls, is not only a place for reading and doing research. Oh no. It is a haven for bums. See, they wait outside (on the grass) until the library opens, then they go inside, enjoy the air conditioning and free movies all day, and then come outside for the night.

The library is right next door to the theatre.

So unless the homeless literacy rate has improved in the past few years, the homeless have ulterior motives.

See, the phallic looking thing is the library. (A comment on our social ideals? Maybe. But, I digress.)

The building right next to it is the theatre.

So, anyways, Moustafa approaches me as I get into my car.

Moustafa: Hey Lady! Hey Lady!

Me: What? What are you saying to me? I can't hear you.

Moustafa: Lady! Lady!

He's still like 40 feet away from me.

Me: I can't hear you! What? What?

Moustafa: (approaching) Lady! Lady!

Me: What?! What!

Moustafa: (finally arriving closer to me than I'd like.) Hey Lady!

-sometimes, I wonder why I don't carry pepper spray. Too bad my hatchet doesn't fit in my purse.

Me: Dude, what do you want?

Moustafa: Where's the library?

Me: Right next door. Right there.

Moustafa: Okay, cool. My name is Moustafa.

Me: Okay.

Moustafa: I'm from Africa.

Me: Okay.

Moustafa: Its my first day in Vegas.

Me: Okay.

Moustafa: I'm trying to get to California.

Me: Okay.

Moustafa: Get my career going.

-Its amazing the amount of information people volunteer.

Me: okay.

Moustafa: You got a man?

Me: What?

Moustafa: You got a man?

Me: No.

-Instantly, I knew I should have said yes. Why do I do this to myself.

Moustafa: Give me a chance.

Me: What?

Moustafa: Give me a chance. I'll treat you right.

-Ya, right into an early grave.

Me: I'm not really looking for anything....

-that may have hepatitis A, B or C.

Moustafa: What's your email?

-Okay, now this is not the first time a man has asked for my email instead of my number. What is that? Is that the poor man's way of communicating? I ain't got no phone baby, but trust me, once I get me to a public computer, its on.

Me: I dont have one.

Moustafa: You don't have an email?

Me: No.

-Really? You don't have a house! And youre looking at me stupid like I dont have an email?!

Me: Listen, I really have to go......

Moustafa: Are you sure?

Me: Ya. Real sure.

Bye bye Moustafa.

Really a harmless bum. That's always nice. Its better than the one that approached me when I was working in the costume shop by myself.

I was hanging up costumes on the rack, and I see this guy come around the corner. He stops right in front of the rack, and says, "you made those?"

-Costumes? Why yes, yes I did.

After a long silence he looks at me and says, "you're a pretty lady. A real pretty lady."

Once again, mace or some sort of blunt object would have come in handy.

If I were homeless, I feel I would be really resourceful. Like there was this one guy who in a matter of like 10 minutes stripped all the copper off the building. Now thats taking a risk.

These are the things to keep in ming as my fiscal situation slowly keeps declining.

I could also wash car windows. Lots of the homeless do that around my work.

Everytime I park my damn car, I got someone coming up to me with a squeegee and a bucket of god knows what. And you have to be careful! They're crafty fuckers. If you don't say no right away, or turn your back too soon, they've already started on your windows. And then you're just rude if you don't pay them.

See, its the sympathy that gets you!

Maybe I should go up and start a more intriguing convo with one of these so called 'hobos'. Bring a blanket, a 40, and sit out front on the grass with the true outdoorsman.