LOS ANGLES — Several times a week I drive the same route, taking a shortcut through a neighborhood of old warehouses and auto repair shops on my way home. I know I will see two things.
First comes a vacant lot on the corner, dilapidated, surrounded by chain-link fencing. Then, a couple blocks to the south, a homeless encampment with jumbles of rusted cars and tents, piles of junk and battered furniture, on either side of the road.
Lately, I have been imagining a connection between the two — the empty land and the camp.
