Nashville's Hobo Villages--An Investigative Report

Yeah, that's right, a post about Nashville's hobo villages. And just when you were wondering why you kept coming to Tiny Cat Pants; here it is, a shocking tale of harrowing danger and killer hobos. I don't see WKRN covering this kind of shit. Do you? As you can imagine, I only have three rules I expect the hobos in my neighborhood to follow: 1. Don't kill me, even if you are a killer hobo. 2. Don't approach my house, especially when I'm there alone or I will turn the dog on you (and she will promptly leap on you and lick you, but her licks can be quite alarming and her elbows are pointy and uncomfortable). 3. Don't be offended if I stare at you as you run across the tops of the trains wearing nothing but your little white briefs. But in general, the hobos are just another part of our neighborhood--much like the crazy Christians (who, it turns out, are very nice) and the poor guy who always seems to be mowing his lawn on the hottest hour of the hottest day of the week and the dog's favorite women, or the old guy who always comes out of his house to tell me he's alive, or the young woman who's got one very nice suit she wears every day to her new job that she leaves for at 6:30 in the morning, or the kid who loves my dog, or the guy who's always coming out of his house to update me on the hobo situation--and I don't normally give them much thought, unless they're laying in the low spot next to the 440 bridge and don't seem to be moving. Then I worry and call the cops. But today, my neighbor who's constantly updating me on the hobo situation came out to tell me about the three most famous hobo villages in Nashville (note, I didn't actually do any investigating for this report, so I have no idea if any of this is true). Here they are ranked from most probable to least. 1. Back behind us under the bridge that takes 440 over the train tracks (as opposed to the bridge that takes us over 440). I knew about this one already as our neighbor stumbled upon it while exploring and was promptly chased away at gunpoint. Supposedly, they have a still back there. (Note to hobos reading this, if you're actually making good moonshine and want to leave some on my back porch, I can happily suspend rule number two in such instances.) We rarely see these hobos, but the ones that aren't cranked out and running across the tops of the train cars seem nice and polite enough and some carry books and bags and so they seem to be just your run of the mill hobos with one or two drugged out freaks the trains bring in. 2. Under Lifeway Bookstore. Supposedly, according to my neighbor, this is the most dangerous hobo village in town and even the railroad cops are afraid to go into it. 3. Under the Belle Meade Kroger. This is supposed to be very small, but the oldest hobo village in the area. The Butcher used to work at the Belle Meade Kroger and I asked him about it. He seemed skeptical and said it would have to be quite small, but who knows? The hobo-aware neighbor also said that the railroad police hear that hobos have taken to standing on the couplings between cars and surfing through town that way. Hobos, I hope that's not true, as that's a good way to lose an arm or a hand or a leg. Well, that's all I know about our neighborhood hobos, but hopefully this hard-hitting report will embarrass the Mainstream Media into investigating whether there really is a still back behind us, and, if so, how one might let the hobos know that she's willing to trade, say, afghans for liquor.