This emaciated, 150 lb hobo, travels with his 45 lb rucksack, like so. He is 80 pounds lighter than he was when he became a hobo, suggesting that life on the rails, couches, busses, backseats and in the garages, mudrooms and campers of the dispossessed, is a healthy alternative to the cozy life of the urban writer who opined and speculated between September 2010 and June 2018, when he gained the last 50 of those unwelcome pounds.

…

Desirous yet unsuccessful at lightening the sack to 35 lbs, this being my goal for summer 2023, I take extensive precautions not to rupture myself. Since getting under 160 pounds, I have had an easier time controlling the swelling in the side walls of my lower abdomen and the pain in the groin. If strain, I note a swelling on one or both sides. There does not seem to be a clean tear in the muscle permitting my intestines to spill out into a lump that might become strangulated. When traveling, without health insurance, which I only have as an untransferable privilege during the 6 weeks a year in Maryland, a full rupture, either strangulated high or my guts dropping into my ball sack below, would put me in the hands of the foremost witch coven of USG’s Satanic Modernity: medical doctors.

My attempt to avoid a full rupture, while my editor, who got me medicare in Maryland negotiates for me to get an orthoscopic repair of the stomach walls, consists of the following precautions, which have brought me back from the brink in early December 2022, when I was in bed with abdominal swelling and testicular ascent, afraid to cough.

-1. Before traveling I wear two small jock straps under two pair of compression shorts, medium over small.

-2. Despite friends wanting to feast me before I go, I fast and keep my guts as empty as possible, making certain to travel in a state of dehydration as well to minimize outward pressure.

-3. Before hoisting the ruck, and until I have it racked on the train, I wear an ingeuinal truss.

-4. After racking the sack I go to the rest room and remove the truss, to be put back on before offloading.

-5. I wear oversized tactical pants with 12 pounds of essentials and back up files on an external hard drive, as well as money, so that I never have to access the rucksack while on the train, even having a toothbrush in a pocket.

-6. I fast on the train and drink diuretics, alcohol and caffeine.

-7. I take short steps with the ruck and never stand straight with chest out.

-8. I never cough or sneeze with straight legs or torso, but while bent.

-9. Once in a hotel I gain writing time by wearing in rotation the two sets of undergarments while showering with the other and letting them dry, donning both for the outward journey.

-10. Female companions are closely supervised to maintain close abdominal contact to protect their frail paramour from mishap.

-12. The broken veins in my right leg are severely misshapen and painful and sitting for days can…

[“Misser Yames,” calls the dainty Latina at the door, “I have you tea,” and she blushes as I answer the door while my two traveling shirts are drying. If I was young, maybe she’d come back later with Mascal… But alas…]

...cause swelling of the right lower leg. Eating according to Guru Rick’s advice has possibly saved me from an amputation. Imagine if I were still 230, and at this point probably diabetic with this wreckage of vessels [0] charged with keeping the right foot supplied with blood? I wear compression socks that come up to the knee, with a pair of wool socks over them. When at the hotel I wear a pair one day and the other pair another day, washing and drying one while wearing the other.

The above methods have me arrive with my next host without the rude burden of a load of dirty clothes.

…

The Eyes

Since I have gotten under 160 pounds, my eye seizures, even when drunk or when being punched in the head dozens and hundreds of times, do not exceed 8. This pain, which formerly required me to medicate and sleep lest I rocket into vomiting 10 and sit in agony in the dark until passing out after some hours, may now be addressed with a nap.

Additionally, the kindness of a new computer set in giant type and of readers emailing me in large type, has reduced eye strain. I further reduce eye strain by not writing on the train, as the lighting is hazardous with sunlight and overheads dueling for a shot at these sensitive organs. I rest on the train, rest everything.

…

I am hoping that my new eight ceiling will be 150 and that this will facilitate self healing of the hernias and of the eye, all in a stubborn attempt to keep moving. A dozen families [2] have now offered me a permanent home, all good people who I love.

-1. Utah

-2. San Jose

-3. Portland

-4. Portland

-5. Portland

-6. Portland

-7. Washington

-8. Washington

-9. Pittsburgh

-10. Lancaster, PA

-11. Exeter, Missouri

-12. East Baltimore

-13. Harford County, Maryland

-14. Tennessee

But to stay with one is to forsake thirteen and I lack the earnings to pay rent unless I give up writing, which is my reason for remaining in this crazed field of negation. So, here I am, wandering about, doing what I hate [traveling] to continue practicing at writing under the lash of the savage monkey on my shrunken back.

…

Miss Lockhart now receives Crackpot income, her getting hardback and substack funds. In true matronly fashion, she insists on using a portion of her income to outfit this crackpot for his travels. Not only is she my medical coordinator, but she provides all of my vitamins, medical, cold weather gear, athletic gear, tactical clothing, and orthopedic wear needs. She will call me every time I travel and ask where I am bound and interrogate me as to the status of my various geriatric devices. I would like the readers to know, that by supporting Lynn’s publishing efforts, maintains me in long underwear in winter, tactical wear in summer and geriatric needs all year round. Thus I have many of you, many unknown to the ear or the eye by name, to thank for my continued misbehavior.

…

Notes

-1. A friend who works as a cat scan tech told me in 2020, as he dragged weazing fatties unto the imaging board, “Bro, Rick probably saved your life. This thing [Covid] loves fat boomer men—stay lean brother, all hail Guru Rick!