What is a jetset hitchhiker?

I have met a few along the way. One time, I was catching a first class flight from Budapest to JFK, and I sat down next to a 22 year-old American with shoulder-length hair and a mustache beneath a striped fedora. He was reading Bukowski, with one Italian-booted leg folded neatly over the other. I asked him, “Is your mom a flight attendant?” “Why, yes.” “Mine, too. My name’s Tim, what’s yours?” And so it went. We fly stand-by first class, but we don’t really have any money to speak of. I was drinking cheap super-market bought beer and sleeping on woodchips in Brussels, but then I hopped a free first-class flight and ate steak with peppercorn sauce aside a fine bottomless shiraz. I hitchhiked from Madrid to Munich, from Bariloche to Buenos Aires, from the Hague to Vienna and back, and, basically, I’ve hitchhiked on 747 jets over silent seas more than two dozen times. “I should have been a pair of ragged claws…” and I live a ragged lifestyle, pilfering designer clothes out of dumpsters, eating on the sidewalk, shaving in the reflection of shop windows… and winding my way, by hook or crook, all over our green Earth, on the jet-stream with a big, shit-eating grin on my face.