Who is the man living out of his Corvette alongside Highway 101.
It’s a newer model, grayish, tricked up, parked in a gravel turnout on private land.
I drive by the sports car early mornings on the way to work.
Once I caught a glimpse of the Corvette Man: middle age, mustachioed, smoking a cigarette.
I have never seen the Corvette in the afternoons on my drive home.
His living logistics baffle me. He must have a little tent encampment in the woods off the highways. I’ve seen a trail.
How does someone who own a nice Corvette come to live out of it in the woods? How does he live?
These are the questions I want to answer as a writer, and not as a novelist. I don’t want to imagine his experience. I want to know.