Hemingway wrote a story about an old man who sits in a café and drinks brandy each night until he’s drunk. As this story opens, two waiters observe the old man. One critical of him, the other sympathetic. The young waiter wants him to hurry up and leave. The old waiter says it’s wrong to chase him off as this café is clean, well-lighted and offers the old man a place of refuge, a place clean and orderly. We learn that like the old man, who attempted suicide recently, the old waiter also feels despair. This is the old waiter’s story. He tells us what he, like the old man drinking brandy, needs most:

What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread. It was a
nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too.
It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order.
Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y
pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy
will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us
our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from
nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. from Ernest Hemingway’s A Clean Well-Lighted Place.

You can read Hemingway’s story online. It’s free and only three pages long. That’s 990 words. Arguably the greatest short story ever written. And funny. I laugh every time I read it. At the very end when all hope is lost…when you face nothing and then nothing what are you to do? A good laugh. That’s right! Howl at the Devil!

A clean, well-lighted stealth spot

I’ve found stealth spots here in Sausalito that are a lot like the well-lighted café in Hemingway’s short story.

The parking lot where I camp is clean and well-lighted.

A fellow stealth camper in the foreground. Ronnie’s panel truck in the background. Good old Ronnie. He’s like a son to me.

My back-up camp spot at the mouth of Nevada Street is also clean and well-lighted.

Yet another stealth camper. This one frequents Nevada Street. Actually it’s more than one in that truck. A family of Undocumented Hispanics. Half a dozen crammed in the truck bed shell. They’re good people. They don’t make a peep. They’re quiet and they pick up after themselves.

There, across the clean parking lot, sits my clean, well-lighted bathroom. Open 24 hours a day. Usually deserted. I go in there and take a dump and wash my face and hands in the sink then dry my hands from the paper towel rack. Generously supplied. Meticulously clean. This is a stealth camper’s paradise. No filthy gin addled bums to share my space with. Only a clean and orderly park and these benches.

Nobody comes to this park. Not at six a.m..

Down on Bridgeway there’s a few trashy van lifers. But none here.

I’ve got these spots all to myself. I can live my free van camper life as long as I like. I have my Wine and a clean well-lighted space. The situation could be a whole hell of a lot worse, let me tell you.

Light, cleanliness and order.

While just over a bridge, pick one, east or west, you have chaos. a kind of living hell for van lifers.

homeless encampment in Oakland

How does a situation get so out of hand?

Strange to be there, when it’s just as easy to come here.

But I’m happy they are not coming here.

Anyway, I’m hanging loose, while everything in the country seems to be falling apart. Did I listen to Trumpy’s speech last night? No, I didn’t. I almost felt guilty I didn’t hear it. If for nothing else than out of an obligation to witness a neighbor’s house burn down.

Then I watched this video. I feel better now.

You might, too.