I stand in the dark, cold, still night, watching, waiting, listening hidden from view. A soft breeze blows, carrying the voices and laughter of people walking by my hidden refuge. Little do they know I am here every night protected and warm. The vent of steam from the laundry floods my area. I create a fresh hovel every night. The cardboard and packing material make a protective place that is comfortable, warm and quiet.

I am one of the invisible that no one sees or knows.