I wanted to turn my collar up and fade into the crowd like in a movie but my shirt didn’t have a collar. I just wandered on, looking for some trash to kick. There wasn’t even any trash. The city changes, gets cleaner every day. They keep loading the homeless men and strays into paddy wagons and carting them to the suburbs. In some patches the suburbs are still tangled and dark. Behind motels and shopping plazas—scrub woods and gullies, hidden places. Men sit in the dirt there, shivering. No one knows to skin things and stay warm.
Joanna Ruocco, “Strays,” Man’s Companions.