"Sometimes I like to just sip my can of beer and pretend it is champagne. I see this old bench by the river as my seaside property and consider myself a rich, retired, man of industry. A real success," he said.
The transient smiled and tilted his head back allowing his long dirty gray hair to lose itself in an early fall breeze.
"I imagine myself fishing for top trophy blues in my yacht with a gorgeous chef ready to prepare the finest freshest recipe to order."
The vagrant took another sip of beer, belched and continued to talk to himself. A group of locals ignored the man and strayed wide from him on the public river path.
"I think about my past and future and instead of weeping I gather a crowd of people anxious to learn from me."
A mother pulled her child closer to her and a young father eyeballed the man with pure hatred.
The hobo finished his beer and stood. He looked around and resisted the sunlight on his poor face.
He begins to beg again looking forward to the next time he can pretend to be more.