Should I be happy or annoyed for this hobo?

“Tack så mycket, tack så mycket, tack… tack så mycket”, the hobo murmured. Cross-legged on the corner of Hötorget Tunnelbana station, he was uttering the equivalent of “thank you so much” in an endless loop. Probably aged around 20-ish, he often addressed me on my way to the office with a smirk on his face. He wore nice clothes for a hobo, with jacket and shirt that even appeared to be ironed. No holes noticed. He was never unshaven, and his brightly lit eyes, sneaked excitement of the things he probably planned to use his begging money for.

I vouched to never give him money. Actually I will go one step further, I vouch to never give money to hobos in Stockholm. Ever. If one of your friends who have been here told you that all Stockholm’s hobos don’t look like hobos, you better believe it, because they are right. Hobos here wear leather shoes, so stylish that makes Potato Y easily qualify as a Swedish hobo, accompanied with his laptop and a cardboard on his chest that says, “Will program for food”. (He may pick up more money than them too).

Back to the hobo I see every morning, he looks cleaner and sleeker every day, and yet he’s still begging and showing no intention to move on. Should I be happy that his life seems to be going so well, or should I be annoyed? Why can’t he find something else to do that is more useful than sitting on his arse all day?

Maybe I should go too

I stood in front of the train station’s entrance, observing. People passed through me like swarms of flies, some fast, some slow. Two teenagers caught my eye, they were multitasking. Both girls walked slowly past the gates, talking to each other, while looking intently at their phones, as if they were speaking to each other through the microphones. A boy, running for the train, accidentally pushed one of the girls, just hard enough to snatch her out of the semi-virtual conversation. She got angry, but the boy had already disappeared. An old lady bumbled along, pulled in different directions by three big dogs she held on to. A family of five tried to go through the exit rather than the entrance, although the pathway was clearly labeled for commuters to get out. The exiting swarms did not care about what the family wanted to do, so the family gave up and re-entered through the correct entrance.

I thought it was like life, no matter in what manner we went through the gate, or how many times we tried to enter, everyone would eventually catch the train. Only those who stood still would miss the train, like me, because I was still observing. Maybe I should go too.

 

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