Simple as that:
Only once have I ever had to worry about getting through the winter. I was dead broke, out of work, and had no place to live. My shelter was a rusty old Chevy. To avoid getting busted as a vagrant at night in Detroit, I drove that car twenty miles on I-96, to a rest area outside the city and slept there in the car overnight. It was February. It was Michigan. And it was freezing.
On the thirty-minute drive I blasted the car’s heater to get the inside of the big four-door sedan as hot as possible when I turned the engine off to fall asleep in the back seat under a couple of thin, musty blankets that I had scrounged up from somewhere. A few hours later I’d wake up shivering and I lay there until I couldn’t stand it. I then forced myself up, reached my long…
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