I know you’re expecting some extraordinary tale about some epic quest, and I think you should just know right now that you are about to be sorely disappointed. This entire story is about one person’s weird imaginings and takes place on one street corner between a laundromat and a deli.

My name is Bobo Caggins, but you can call me Bo. All my friends would call me Bo, except they call me Sven. They work at a discount laundromat (the one I am currently standing in front of) and smoke detergent between loads. I am not quite sure what the allure of this would be. I prefer candle wax, myself.

Anyways, This is not about my friends, it’s about me, a hobo. Oh, sure, they come in, but this story is not about them. Or the detergent they smoke. Moving on.