I don’t know what it is. Maybe what the humidity has done for my hair, what the steep hills have done for my ass, or perhaps what the drugs and alcohol have done to their brains, but the homeless men in San Francisco love me.
Nary an encounter with a bum goes by that doesn’t leave me with a smile on my face and a new, classiest of classy pickup line for me to remember so that I might share it with the world.
And so I share it here, with you, in a new portion of my blog that I shall refer to as “Hobo Casanovas.”
