I grip my the steering wheel and focus on the ramp that will spill us into the fast lane of Interstate-45.
Minal calls out from the back: Did you see that?
See what? I ask, still looking ahead.
There’s a shopping cart and a man was sitting there on a camping chair drinking coffee. And he had a clothesline all around him.
It’s been a while since Minal has offered me commentary about the homeless community scattered beneath the ramps.
I won’t be able to see him, I tell her. I have to keep my eyes on the road.
That’s how he made his home, she says.