we sometimes go down the north ramp so i can see how the fellow camper is doing on that side. there's a different person on either side and a different camp personality. i have my own interest, and i don't want to disturb anything, but i like to see how mister quietly observes and passes on curiously and respectfully. i think of living outside, in public, and what it would be like. i lived a time in my car, for months, but that was traveling, and sleeping on the shoulder, except when i broke down in l.a. and once i rode the freights and it felt like a sooty hellish eternity, but it was only a couple days, but they way we were treated, chased with sticks and cursed as river rats. i wouldn't want to be homeless in america i tell you. it's a hard hard place if you got a home. i'm too soft to be homeless in the home of the brave and the land of the free.