On my way to work this morning, I walked past what I believe was a genuine, in-the-flesh hobo. Not just a homeless person, but a hobo! He was sitting under the railroad overpass, dressed in bulky camouflage, had a knapsack and a beard, and was playing the same short and fast melody on a harmonica over and over again. I was especially excited to spot a hobo in the flesh since I had just read the 700 Hobo Names in John Hodgman's book a couple of weeks ago. I was too shy to ask him if his presence meant the hoboes were indeed going to overthrow the government.