We were eating ramen ten minutes later. He was behind the steering wheel, me in the passenger seat. A wall of steel behind him got slid to the side, revealing the hidden space within: a mattress, a microwave, a small fridge, some crates, bric and a whole lot of brac. Everything appeared tied down. It looked homey in that it looked lived in.
“How long have you been homeless, Ted?”
I choked on my noodles. I coughed. I slugged a bottle of water he handed me. “How did you…how did you know?” I hadn’t told Giselle. I hadn’t told anyone. I kept myself relatively clean in San Francisco. I cut my own hair, from time to time. I trimmed my nails. I found sinks to bathe in. I stole clothes from corner coin-operated laundromats, from inside the dryers. I returned them later, found new ones. I appeare
