On Sunday, as I was exiting the Flagstaff Wal-Mart, I met a professional hobo. He was a grungy, bearded man on a bike with a cock-a-mamie story about needing money for bus fare so he could get to a train station then to Las Vegas then to Wyoming or something.
"Now since I'm a professional hobo," he said, "I have a service to provide." His services featured mostly window cleaning. And he pointed out the difference between a hobo - who is willing to work for his handout - and a bum - who just wants to leech off people.
Well, his scheme worked. I didn't need the window washed, but I did need a little karma. PROFESSIONAL karma.