My name is Frank, and I’ve been a retired electrician for nearly a decade. The kind of man who notices small, almost imperceptible changes in a quiet street—the way a fence leans slightly after a storm, how the paint on a neighbor’s door begins to chip, or how the grass grows uneven where someone once trampled it. That’s why the caravan caught my attention in the first place. A 1970s “Sun-Liner,” it had been parked in my neighbor’s yard for as long as I could remember. Rust crawled over the metal, flat tires were half-sunken into the mud, and cracked windows revealed interiors lined with years of dust, mildew, and forgotten life. The sun had baked it into faded orange and brown, and the mildew had settled thickly across the roof, like green frosting. For years, I’d assumed it was abandoned, a monument to someone’s dreams that had rotted quietly away. But that afternoon, it looked different—alive in a way I didn’t expect—and the reason soon appeared. Continue reading…
