I am standing in my driveway with a wrench in my hand when I realize I am about to make a joke that might ruin everything. The sun is barely up. The air smells like dew and engine oil. My van sits in front of me with the side door open, showing off the inside I spent 6 months building with my own hands.
A small wooden bed, a cabinet I sanded until my arms hurt, curtains I stitched myself because I did not trust anyone else to get it right. This van was supposed to be my escape. My quiet plan to disappear for a while. My name is Marcus. I am 28. I have lived in this rental house in northern Vermont for 3 years.
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