Stickles

Zip ties, bandannas, patches and tape held Stickles together, a true traveler frayed by the miles and shaken loose by the bumpy marathons in his old brown van, going to every place he ever wanted to visit. He was winterized and ready, always wearing his heavy coat, skinny because he never stopped to eat. Stickles was always moving, chasing down the rumors of little scenes and excited kids in cities you'd never think twice about. He'd put on his coat in his Northern home and speed away in urgent pursuit, and when he stepped out in the warm South everyone looked at him funny because he had never thought to take the time to take off the fur lined jacket, it seemed like a waste of time and Stickles was too eager to get where he was going. The hood and fingerless gloves were the perfect hobo extension of his thick beard and shaggy hair, which he cut himself. His silhouette was a blocky lego man, featureless from the layers of hair and clothes, tackytern utility he could take on the rails.

Stickles had an encyclopedic knowledge of the small forgotten towns he had stopped in. He would ask the people there what they liked the most, and try to see things through their eyes. Cultural tourists too often tried to colonize these unassuming places, projecting their own standards so they could congratulate the residents for elevating themselves but still feel superior. Stickles approached every place like he had never been anywhere before, and he tried to hold what he found with reverence.

He sang the praises of Birmingham, New Brunswick, Gainesville, Minneapolis and Omaha. When people looked skeptical he didn't argue, if they wanted to listen he would tell them but he would not turn it into a contest over where was better than where. He loved the neglected places the most for the gems they hid, the basement shows and record stores, the living scenes that didn't care about Brooklyn or Silver Lake. Stickles beat down the parched highways preaching his gospel, always taking time to listen to the stories of unexpected places and making mental notes for the future. When some years down the line the gentrifiers started moving into one of his old haunts he didn't mind, it just meant it was time to find another.