Toodles Strunk

“Eww! That man smells like cat puke and pee!” That was one of the more kind remarks Toodles Strunk, professional vagabond, had received that day. Then it happened.

“Heysh, buddysh, thissh issh mysh alleyshwaysh nowsh,” Sherman Herman from under the bridge two blocks down said.

“Whazzat?”

“Yoursh hobosh licensesh issh revokedsh. Yoush gottash becomesh ash productivesh membersh ofsh shoshietysh. Comessh fromsh thesh kingsh himshelfsh.” Sherman Herman presented a wadded up napkin to Toodles.

The thought of going legit frightened Toodles Strunk almost as much as the plastic bag gnomes that visited him every night. “Hubbadub,” he muttered and left his alley.