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“The one who ended the fighting and saved the world. He spent the entire night wide awake, glaring at the ceiling of his room in the dark until sunrise. Deep down he knew it was something, no, someone else. He told himself it was anxiety over the upcoming battle – but Eren was never one to worry about his ability in combat. He sighed in exasperation as he tossed and turned in his sheets. It was pitiful, and almost even sickening, how many times he relived the events of the previous day in his head. Until night time came again and his body craved your touch, his hand slipping into his trousers once again. By the end of the first day he swore he’d finally stopped thinking about it, relieved.
![handsome hobo handsome hobo](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/4c/89/a8/4c89a88a9f3d844049936a0327573d39--photo-shoots-callum-turner.jpg)
All because, with great annoyance, he realized he craved more of you. He managed to hold out for a whole day, though he was consumed by rage, his piercing emerald eye glaring at his charge nurse and anyone else who managed to catch his gaze, and his tone of voice dripping with even more contempt than usual. Perhaps I could star in a hobo reality show like “Dancing with the Hobos,” “Survivor: HoboTown,” “CSI: Special Hobo Unit,” or science fiction classics the likes of “The Bionic Hobo,” “Flash Hobo” or “This Island Hobo.Eren thought that that last visit would have rid him of his lust for you. I would be the keynote speaker of “Hobo Days” at the National Hobo Convention in Britt, Iowa. Sir Railcar McRussdum, me, will be the most famous hobo of all time. I could name them Hobo only, just like celebrities Bono, Madonna and Cher. Maybe I will name my firstborn Howard Hobo Dale if it’s a boy and Glenda Hobo Dale if it’s a girl. I create my own hobo code! Many long to know my enigmatic hobo code. I’m a sinister hobo, an infamous hobo and a hobo who doesn’t play by those wacky hobo rules. I spread misinformation of the hobo code, for security purposes, so that nobody can horde my safe zones around the country. So don’t even ask for a bit of my stew unless you know the secret hobo handshake and can interpret the cryptic wall signals scrawled in crayon or charcoal. I only share my stew with acronym B.O.T.H., the “Brotherhood of the Hobo,” and none other. I am the best mulligan mixer ever because I have the finest recipe for Mulligan Stew consisting of beef broth, potatoes, carrots, celery, onions, mystery meat, spices and herbs. In Britain I would be called a “rough sleeper.” I prefer “hobo” thank you. My road stake is 75 US dollars, for emergencies. In it I carry the essentials: MP3 player, extra changes of underclothes, peppermint patchouli soaps, biscuits, a smallish cask of bathtub gin and a picture of my family.
![handsome hobo handsome hobo](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e8/ac/21/e8ac214ba0c1c74c58e877f6bbe91dbe.jpg)
My bindle is proudly slung over my shoulder, made from the finest gaudy patchwork blanket and tied around the end of a lavish mahogany stick etched with symbols of my creation and unknown origin. I scoff at using shopping carts to carry my belongings as they are impractical when leaping aboard moving trains. I will use hobo jargon judiciously in this piece as I am filled with a hodgepodge of hobo history. Sometimes I crave the romantic wayward hobo life and would cheerfully be one who, in order to find work, clumsily flip on freight trains to travel the nation whilst shabbily dressed in my best glad rags.