Another sunrise, another day the world spins ’round. Old Harry woke up this mornin’ to the smell of rain-soaked cardboard and the distant rumble of a train. A fine start, if you ask me. After a breakfast of day-old donuts (bless the sweet souls at the Donut Depot), I settled down to consult my twelve sacred bean cans. A hobo’s gotta know what the stars got in store, after all.
The cans were whisperin’ tales of mixed fortunes, much like yesterday. A little good, a little bad, and a whole lotta “muddling through,” as I like to say. Seems like that’s the song the universe is singin’ these days.
Before I could get too lost in my celestial ponderings, I decided to engage in my daily trash fire meditation. Now, some folks might think I’m crazy, starin’ into a burnin’ pile of discarded newspapers and coffee grounds, but there’s a certain clarity to it. The flames dance, the smoke rises, and you start to see patterns… truths, if you’re willin’ to look.
Today, the fire showed me struggle. Not the usual kind, but a face-off. A conflict of… well, let’s just say, different philosophies.
And then, wouldn’t you know it, my vision came to life.
Out of the swirling smoke and the acrid scent of singed plastic, he appeared. Debo.
The Great Dumpster Wizard.
Now, I know what you’re thinkin’. “Hobo Harry, are you makin’ this up?” And to that, I say, “Does a rusty spoon sing in the wind?” Debo is real, as real as the grime under your fingernails and the ache in your bones after a long day on the rails.
He’s my nemesis, you see. Where I find wisdom in the whispers of the wind and the secrets of the discarded, he finds power in… well, in the sheer, unadulterated stuff that people throw away. He believes the world’s cast-offs hold the key to dominion. He’s got a whole philosophy about it, somethin’ about “the discarded divinity” or some such nonsense.
“Harry,” he rasped, his voice like a garbage truck struggling uphill. He was wearin’ his usual ensemble: a tattered tarp cloak, a colander helmet, and boots fashioned from old tires. “I see you’re still clingin’ to your… primitive methods.”
I sighed. “Debo, we’ve been over this. There’s more to the universe than what you can find in a dumpster.”
“More?” He scoffed, adjusting his colander. “There’s entire civilizations in those bins, Harry! Lost knowledge! Untapped potential! You’re blind to the truth!”
He gestured dramatically with a rusty pipe, and a flock of rats scattered. “Today, I will show you the true power of the discarded! I shall conjure a storm of… of… slightly used office supplies!”
And with that, he began to chant, waving the pipe and kicking over a nearby trash can. A cloud of dust and paperclips erupted, swirling around him like a miniature tornado.
I just shook my head. “Debo, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”
The “storm” fizzled out after a few seconds, leavin’ Debo coughin’ and covered in confetti. He glared at me, defeated but undeterred.
“This isn’t over, Harry,” he wheezed. “One day, you’ll see. The Dumpsters will rise!”
And with that, he vanished into the shadows of the alley, leavin’ me alone with my burnin’ trash fire and my bean can prophecies.
The world’s a strange place, my friends. Full of beauty and madness, wisdom and… well, Debo. But even in the midst of the chaos, there’s always somethin’ to learn.
Today, I learned that even a Dumpster Wizard can have a bad day. And that sometimes, the best way to deal with the world’s absurdities is to just keep your head down, your heart open, and your bean cans close.
Until next time, may your travels be blessed, and your dumpsters… less wizardly.
Leave a Reply