You realise, as you do from time to time, that you are a rather worthy and eligible bachelor, all things considered. After all, how many hobos take this kind of initiative? At least you are a progressive hobo.
Where there is apathy, there will always be disappointment, and so, you reason, any step towards society is a step well done. You wonder why your boss didn't think this far ahead when he fired you.
You smarten up delightfully, even if you do say so yourself. This involves vigorously wiping your nose with your shirt-sleeve and saying 'hot damn!' as you smooth back your somewhat greying hair with the same sleeve.
Summoning up a great volley of conversational topics, each better and more suave than the next, you saunter jovially towards the group of girls. As always, you keep Plan B in mind, should, for any reason, Plan A prove unsatisfactory.
That ol' showbiz smile of yours beaming wide, despite the two missing teeth, you eventually reach the girls, who are talking amongst themselves. Your stomach feels light as air, your heart beats faster. Progressive hobo geared for action!
Suddenly there is a catch in your throat as you try to speak. As the girls notice you coming, their expressions appear to set at a curious sort of expectant stare, and each of their gazes pries your confidence apart. Your face resumes its usual hanging position, and all charm vanishes from the forefront of your mind.
You mumble something about being hungry for a blowjob. Some line that sounded witty and flirtatious in your mind just sounds like nonsense now as the girls attention wanes and turns to confused but apparently uproarious laughter.
You feel a heat rising in your fists, in your neck. Your cheeks glow crimson, a shame burns behind your eyes.
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