I wouldn't make a good hobo. I'm not addicted to crack, I haven't got a beard, and I have trouble enough sleeping in hostel beds, especially if the pillows are too big. So managing to get an hour's shut-eye on the floor of a Bulgarian railway station with prostitutes and other undesirable characters roaming around nearby surprised me. It had been none of our intentions to spend the night on the hard marble floor of Ruse station, believe it or not. Mildly hungover, we had set off from Brasov at 2pm and spent a couple of hours at Bucharest before catching
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