White Dress, Red Cart

            “Huh, look at that one.” Hobo #1 said to Hobo #2

            “What, the one wearing white, with that cart?”” #2 said, squinting to see what his friend was pointing at.

            “Yeah, that one.” Hobo #1 grunted at #2.  He wiped sweat from his forehead, wishing they were still under that overpass a few miles back.  At least they had this game to keep them company.

            “Hmm. She’s tough. Since she’s wearing all that white, and pushing a red shopping cart, I’d guess that she watched too many movies when she was growing up, and paid too much attention in her fuckin’ English classes. She’s trying to project this image of purity with that white thing she’s wearing- I don’t know what they call ‘em anymore: camosile, blouse, trench coat? What? Anyway, that red shopping cart, lemme think. She either shops at Target (fuck that place, by the way), or she’s still paying too much attention in English class, and she’s saying that she’s in the market for passion, lust, sex… she’s probably a prostitute. That white shit she’s wearing is a front. Cops trust women in white.”

            “Especially when there’s a water hose somewhere close!” Hobo #1 exclaimed, laughing heartily as they walked. “You’re too good at this, #2. I was gonna say she likes wearing white, and doesn’t think it will get dirty at all, even if she’s walkin’ around outside like that. What’s with her, anyway? Who walks on the service roads like that? She looks like a decent enough woman to know not to do shit like that.” The two hobos kept walking, watching the woman walked in the opposite direction.

            “I’m tellin’ you, man. She’s a whore. Look at that red shopping cart, and the way she parades her ass around like it owns the place.” #2 said. He, too, was starting to wish they were still at that overpass a few miles back. Why the hell had they decided today was Let’s Walk Down The Freeway Day? Panhandling on the freeway sucks unless your tits are big, and the two hobos had no tits to speak of.  They weren’t going to get any money out here, and they knew it.

            “I don’t see any ass parading, like you’re saying. And she might shop at Target! That was your first guess, right? Don’t go sayin’ bad stuff about people you don’t know.” Hobo #1 said, punctuating the statement by smacking #2 on the back of the head.

            “But I know her. It just took me a minute to know that I knew her.” #2 mumbled, rubbing his head and leering at Hobo #1.

            “What? Since when do you know a woman? Why didn’t you say shit about this before?” Hobo #1 smacked #2 on the forehead this time as he spoke.

            “Because I paid her for sex last week. You don’t know everything I do, man. I used to be a senator in El Salvador, I bet you didn’t know that. Were you ever a senator in El Salvador? No? I didn’t think so.”

            “WHAT? You never told me that! I think I would have recognized you if you were a senator. Does El Salvador even have senators? I thought they were just… a group of people speakin’ Spanish at each other, or somethin’.” Hobo #1 scratched his head, trying to remember where the hell El Salvador even was. Wasn’t it a city in Mexico?

            “They had a senate. It collapsed about 213 years ago, in favor of a dictator.” #2 said, with a cryptic glint in his eye.

            “You fuckin’ idiot! I know you aren’t older than 47, how the hell would you be in a senate over 200 years ago in some El Salvador town, shit. El Salvador isn’t even a real place, probably. I think you made that place up! Senator, my ass. Look at this, you’re makin’ me drink, man. Here I am, tryin’ to quit, and you’re makin’ me drink. Sad state of the union, #2.” Hobo #1 took a large flask out of his ragged jacket, unscrewed the cap, and took a long drag from it. Belching, he put the cap back on, and returned the flask to its original hiding spot.

            Hobo #2 sighed, and put his hand on Hobo #1’s shoulder. “You’d never understand, amigo. Just keep that in mind, wherever your mind goes. I don’t know where it’ll be in a few minutes.” With that, #2 uttered a few mystical phrases, kicking Hobo #1’s soul out of his body, and allowing Juan De Los Cinco Diablos’ soul to transfer from the body of #2 to Hobo #1.

            “Hmmm, I didn’t know he’d been keeping tequila from me. That bastard.” Juan muttered, drawing the flask out of the pocket and draining the rest of the tequila.