In Which The Littlest Hobo Nearly Discovers Brunch

In The Littlest Hobo's mind it was, as always, the nicest day imaginable. He listened to the majestic howls of the coyotes below him mingled with the gusting winds that threatened to topple the very tree that was keeping him free from their jaws. Once more, he marveled at the act of athleticism that had allowed him to vault, against all odds, to his current perch. It truly is wondrous what physical feats a person, even one as small as The Littlest Hobo, can accomplish when fueled by adrenaline born of sheer, magnificent terror and a desperate will to live. Blessing compounded upon blessing, The Littlest Hobo celebrated the presence of the neighboring gas-producing bog that kept those pesky owls away from this region of the forest. Truly, this was, at least for now, the safest of havens against the myriad conspiracies of nature.

Without any further distraction The Littlest Hobo could have sat for hours contentedly reflecting on his great fortune, but he was brought out of his meditative state by a louder-than-normal rumbling of his sad, shrunken stomach. Suddenly jolted to his senses, our diminutive friend recalled the purpose of his current journey. He had only ventured into a region filled with so many dangerous creatures in an effort to expedite his arrival in a neighboring town where he had heard great wonders awaited: There was a restaurant in this town, or so he had heard, that specialized in serving breakfast and lunch at the same time. For weeks, The Littlest Hobo scraped up what money he could find before, deciding that 73 cents certainly ought to be enough to cover his costs, he set out to witness this phenomenon for himself.

Now, The Littlest Hobo had the only vaguest ideas of what breakfast and lunch were. Those occasions on which he was able to eat two meals in as many days were always among the pleasant surprises to him. The idea of eating two meals simultaneously was a dream so glorious he could scarcely comprehend it. "What on earth would one choose to consume on such an occasion?" he wondered. "Perhaps a crust of bread and a handful of peas!" As he salivated uncontrollably at the very thought, The Littlest Hobo nearly passed out from the increased dehydration. This was an event he simply had to experience.

Using his trusty hat to harness the howling winds, The Littlest Hobo managed to glide in an uncontrolled, tumbling fashion from tree to tree, escaping the forest without further encounter with the growling beasts that infested its labyrinthine floor. Before he knew it, he had escaped and once again reached the highway just outside of town. As he wandered the city streets -- delightfully devoid of coyotes, owls, ocelots, or any other dangerous creatures -- The Littlest Hobo eventually came to a diner with a bright red sign that read Mel's. Recognizing the name as that of his goal, our friend wandered right in.

After several minutes spent gaining the attention of the hostess, he was promptly seated at a booth that may well have been even cozier than the branch in which he had half-dozed the prior night. All signs pointed to this being the world changing moment he had expected it could be. "I'll have the brunch, please," The Littlest Hobo insisted, earnestly hoisting his smallest of fortunes towards the gruff looking woman who had come asking for his order.

She would have gladly taken the inadequate sum offered in exchange for such a meal, but, much to her dismay, the waitress had to inform The Littlest Hobo that it was, in fact, 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and that brunch was no longer being served for the day, and is there anything else his precious little heart might desire? Alas, there was nothing else that The Littlest Hobo's precious heart did desire, and disappointment threatened to creep in and fill the hole that this mystical "brunch" had left there.

Just then, however, he noticed another customer happily slurping away at a plate of spaghetti. So enamored was The Littlest Hobo with the slurping and the spinning and the pleasant redness of the sauce that he immediately asked to have the same. Now, even by the standards of highway diners, Mel served an atrocious plate of spaghetti, but such trifles are of little importance to The Littlest Hobo. He happily ate a whole 5 noodles before collapsing into a deep sleep. As he slumbered, the restaurant closed around him, nobody noticing the boy of prodigiously small proportions curled up at Table 6.