Our neighbor

There is a man who lives in a tent on the grassy median around the corner from our house. Sometimes his tent is there, and sometimes it disappears and I wonder if it had been there at all. I've seen him sweep the area clean while cars zoom past on either side. I've seen the tent illuminated in the darkness and I've seen the empty patch of ground where it used to stand. It seems the most unlikely place for a home, even an occasional one.

The first time I saw him, he stood perfectly still as I passed on the other side of the street. His face was dark and half covered with a rag to stave off the wind. I stared, trying to figure out why he was there and what he was doing. It took me a while to realize he was staring at me too. He watched me watch him- did he feel judged or pitied or scorned?

When the tent is gone, I wonder where he went.