I met Mr. Palmer on January 6, 2012, while I was waiting for the homeless bus to arrive at Venice Beach to take me to the emergency winter shelter for the night.
1984. My breath catches in my throat as my fingers curl around the smooth porcelain bowl.
A few nights ago, Ben arrived home from work carrying several bags, none of them the one containing his newly bought shirt from J. Crew ($66, on sale).
The days that you begin to relax are the days when you get caught, but not in the way you had feared, because nobody has the imagination to assume you’re a squatter.