Midnight Hobo is a fine liquor of the most questionable origins.

Sleep came before the comic last night, unfortunately, so this comes to you well over twelve hours later than I was shooting for. My mind and body mutinied after enduring the unwelcome trials of moving, leaving my hapless soul to blunder about in the pitch.

I saw two men with skin of a most ochre hue bidding each other farewell outside a Circle K, one holding a bag and one holding a bottle. Hands with crevasses made black by the filth that wandered the air of the city grasped firmly, slid apart and found each other again, their knuckles bumping as one of them turned and left. The man holding a bottle stood with his fist held out, waiting until the man holding a bag reached the end of the block before letting it return to his side.

-Tyrus Peace