Count Your Countenance

For someone who can fit all their worldly belongings into a trunk (of a small convertible, no less!) I have quite a few outfits. There are three cotton tank tops that I wear consistently enough to bank on the short-term memory that my friends seem to exhibit towards my clothes. I have the standard light blue jeans, ripped for good measure, black jeans for my dress shirts, and neon blue jeans for Halloween. Then there's jackets. A long, soft cotton drapery that hangs down past my thighs, in the dark gray you always see on homeless people, is my favorite. Close second is a light blue with short sleeves and a stretchy bottom portion, which my friend's grandpa once mistook for his. And I have the black hooded sweater that I keep because it fits so well with the standard light torn blue jeans. All this goes in my trunk, except when I take them out to wear them or wash them.

My fashion hasn't changed since I became homeless. Everything is a bit more wrinkled, a little less fresh, but you could never tell I was living out of a car if you saw me. Unless you saw the car, or me changing in the car, or perhaps sleeping in it at night and emerging from the passenger side door in the morning to get clothes from that small trunk, and while I wormed back into the passenger to wiggle into those clothes you might think something was up. Well I'm just doing this social experiment man, minimalist living and mumbo jumbo sorta thing you know? You feel that, man?

I can't imagine what people REALLy think when they find out I'm doing this, especially those who already know me well. In part, I think they tolerate it because no matter what I just don't look homeless, and maybe the appearance has some role in keeping the signals from getting all the way to the brain. Like a car accident on the side of the freeway that people stare at, stare all the way until their necks hurt from snapping back after they crush the bumper on the car in front of them. Then you might not get home for hours.