Well, well, well, if it ain’t a peculiar day on the rails, friends. May the 4th be with ya, if you’re the type that believes in such things. I ran into some odd folk today while I was meditating around the flames of my trash fire. They were all dressed up in shiny, plastic armor and waving lightsabers—talk about strange energy.
It all started when I was sitting there, my worn fingers curling around an old bean can, waiting for the stars to speak to me. The fire crackled, casting long shadows across the hobo camp as the raccoon, Jasper, had his usual post-midnight snack. The stars were quiet tonight, almost too quiet, like the heavens were waiting for something big to happen.
And then, as if summoned by the magic of the universe, they arrived.
A whole band of them. They were chanting some word I didn’t understand—“May the Force,” they kept saying, as if the Force was something you could actually hold in your hand. I’ve held many things in my time, but the Force? Never been able to wrap my hands around that one. But they certainly seemed to believe in it, each wearing a cape or a mask or something that glowed like a firefly in the night. One fellow was dressed as a Jedi, holding a glowing stick, while another looked like some kind of robot, making a whirring sound every time he moved.
Blaze, my trusted dog companion, gave them the ol’ sniff-down, and they didn’t mind one bit. It was like they were on some kind of quest to find the meaning of the galaxy. I asked them, “What brings you to this side of the tracks, folks?”
A young one, dressed like a princess, with golden hair and a crown, smiled and said, “We come to honor the Force and the heroes of the galaxy.”
Now, I’ve seen my fair share of strange things on the road, but I had to give it to them—this bunch was dedicated. It was clear they weren’t just playing dress-up. They believed in something greater than themselves. Much like me, when I cast my beans into the fire to get a glimpse of tomorrow’s future.
I decided to join them for a moment. I held up my bean can like a chalice, catching the flicker of the firelight off its rusty edges. “As a master of the mystic hobo arts,” I said, “I’ll give you a prophecy.”
They stopped, intrigued, eyes wide beneath their helmets and robes. Jasper crawled out from his snack pile, giving them a look of skepticism. I continued, “The stars are quiet tonight, but I see the future in the beans. There’s something about your quest, something powerful about your spirit. But beware, for the path ahead is not as clear as the blue sky of Tatooine. There will be a challenge—a test of character—where you will face your fears. It will be difficult, but with courage, you will triumph.”
The Jedi guy nodded solemnly, which was something, I guess. They all gathered around, heads low, absorbing the words of a hobo mystic. It felt good to give something back, even if my prophecy was wrapped in the mystery of trash fire smoke.
Before they left, the princess gave me a little trinket—one of those glowing stick-things. It was warm in my hand, and though I could never truly call myself a Jedi, I felt a spark of connection. Perhaps the Force was with me, too, in its own strange, hobo way.
So, on this May the 4th, I leave you with this: The stars may not always speak clearly, and the path might be filled with strange cosplayers and glowing sticks, but trust in yourself. The universe will show you the way—even if it’s through a can of beans or a trash fire meditation.
May the beans be with you, always.
— Hobo Harry