Frank Hobbs was an interesting character. He would show up at open mics and poetry readings, read his Depression Poetry, and scare the hell out of the front row. Over 6 foot tall, dressed in black, hair spiked up, he would talk about life from his perspective, with too much information, gory details, and an honesty that both amuses and frightens. Frank Hobbs died selling his home made poetry magazines on the streets in NY in 1996 at the age of 30 after an altercation with a bouncer that didn't want him hanging out in front of his bar's door. Frank was bad for business, and Frank received a serious beating (Frank was vulnerable being ex-junkie HIV+), where friends found him in an empty doorway bleeding. He died on route to the hospital. His last words were reported to be, "...it figures."
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