Last night, I was unnecessarily terse with a hobo who wanted to know what I was reading. Even at the time, I knew I was making a mistake. How often do you get a chance to chat with a hobo about the Jazz Age? But I wasn't much talkative, and rather absorbed in the narrative, so I brushed him off and he disembarked at the very next stop. This morning, there was some bad craziness between two hoboes on opposite sides of the train car, one of whom was babbling like a demon and the other of whom was chanting at him like a shaman.