little shack in the Pearl, on the edge of a truck parking lot
excerpt from one of my essays, Little Motors:
Remember: searching roadsides and backyards, parking lots and corridors, for a space I could hide inside, a place I could live if I needed to. A rock shelter in the park, an alleyway with a cubbyhole, a broken-down shed, or an out-of-business auto repair shop wherever my body could fit, and where no one could find me. I fantasized about these spaces, how quiet they would be, how I wouldnt have to listen for Dads footsteps in the hallway, or lean a chair against my door to keep him out. I still do that sometimes.
*and if you read the comments for "underground," you will see that Wendy and I are in synch again.