By Qyreia
Hobojiim, as the aliens say it, is the definition of a “scruffy looking nerf herder.” It is difficult to make out his 1.75 meters of height since he is usually sitting down in the mire that is
the street. His hair is dark gray with strands of white, long and greasy, tumbling down just past his shoulders and over his eyes in gentle if messy waves. Said eyes are, purportedly, a dark ocean blue, and nice to look at, if you can see it past his hair and thick mustache and beard, the latter of which has grown down to his belly. Without going into detail over just how filthy he is from lack of bathing, he wears practical patchwork clothing, making it impossible to tell where he came from as much as how many hidden pockets he might have.
Little is truly known about Hobojiim. Due to the odds-and-ends nature of his clothes — which contain elements of everything from business suits to military garb — no one can say what walk of life might have led him to his homeless state. Locals have only been able to point out that he was a regular in the area back when Threader’s was still a soup kitchen. After the kitchen closed down and reopened as a clothing store, he remained. As he has never caused anyone any trouble, most just treat him like a foul-smelling mascot or amiable local legend.
Jim keeps largely to himself on his little patch of curb outside Threader’s Place. He is thankful when alms are offered, returning any kind gesture with a gruff but amiable “thank you.” He occasionally hums to himself, though the tunes are never the same and are made up on the spot. While generally unobtrusive in the extreme, he has made it a point that no one — not even Threader himself — will evict him from his spot in the streets, and though it has never come to full-blown violence, his persistence has aggravated at least a few people.