might one day turn into lofts. No,
no. It was a cold, empty space. Gray
concrete floors stained with oil and
grease, old junk cars and car parts
everywhere. Near the front, next to
the roller door that opened onto the
street, there was a tiny office built
out of drywall for doing paperwork
and such. In the back was a
kitchenette, just a sink, a portable
hot plate, and some cabinets. To
bathe, there was only an open wash
basin, like a janitor’s sink, with a
showerhead rigged up above.
Abel and my mom slept with
Andrew in the office on a thin
mattress they’d roll out on the