In Australia they were called Permanents, usually living in tatty trailers – caravans – or units at campgrounds. In the US, motels. Those for whom it was their only residence, and, in all likelihood, wasn’t going to change. Mine was an impromptu stop, a single night. Gone early the next morning.
A few ground floor rooms with wheelchairs outside. I’d wandered past in the dark, glimpsing inside through doors left ajar, curtains half closed, despite the sharp cold. Mostly chaotic, possessions strewn about. In others, Hispanic families, larger than the rooms they occupied.
