I never thought I’d end up here—sitting in a folding chair outside my van, watching the sun bleed into the Arizona desert. Empire’s gone, the plant’s closed, and Bo’s been gone a year now. I sold everything except what fits in this old Dodge. Amazon kept me through the winter, but now I’m drifting again.

Linda invited me to this gathering—said it was safe, that people look out for each other. I almost didn’t come. But when the cold hit and the van sputtered on the highway, I realized I couldn’t do this alone.

Bob Wells stands at the edge of the camp, teaching someone how to patch a tire. Swankie waves me over to her rig, offering coffee. Dave’s here too—he smiles when he sees me, that quiet way he does.

Out here, no one asks why you’re running. They just ask if you need a hand.

And I do. I really do.