““Hanging around the Hobo Jungle as the sun went down, I met the enfant terrible of the National Hobo Convention, camped under the wheels of a parked boxcar with a scrap of ragged blanket, nursing a 12-pack of Beast Ice. He wore a filthy tie-dyed T-shirt, and his skin was the color of boiled hot dog. He moonwalked out from his hole, shouting, “I’m the Tan Man, baby!” and singing Lady Gaga—“Lemme take a ride on your disco stick!””
