by John Ellis
Seventeen years ago, I was homeless. Sleeping in my car; taking showers in truck stops; worrying about finding a good spot to park at night that was simultaneously safe and where I wouldn’t be hassled by the police. Over the course of a couple of months, on a night here and a night there, I managed to bum a bed or couch off friends or acquaintances. Most of the time, though, I did my best to fall asleep in the front seat of my 1998 Pontiac Grand Am.