Ya walk inta town an’ them people knows ya ain’t one of ‘em. Them people in the store can smell a tramp fer a mile. Don’t make no diff’rence if ya ain’t got yer bedroll with ya, they can tell. Ya ain’t took no bath in two weeks, an’ ya might think think just ‘cause ya shaved or somethin’, ye’ll fit in. Well, no matter whatcha do, they can tell. Ya been sleepin’ in the weeds an’ cookin’ yer food in tin cans an’ stealin’ soap outta the shithouses to keep clean. Ya live diff’rent than they do, an’ it’s writ all over ya.