That first night in the parking lot, I barely slept.
Every rattling shopping cart or passing truck jerked me awake, clutching my phone like a safety blanket. By sunrise, my neck was stiff, my back screaming, and my breath fogged the windshield. I’d gone from remote tech job with benefits to hoping security wouldn’t bang on my window in less than a week.
When I finally forced myself to move, I realized I couldn’t just sit there burning gas and pretending this was temporary.
I found a tiny coffee shop a few blocks away—the kind with chipped tables and a handwritten sign reading “WiFi with purchase.” I bought the cheapest latte and camped in a corner, hugging the cup like it might hold my future. My savings weren’t impressive to begin with, and what little I had was bleeding out fast.
