There was a small difference, however. A tiny shack close to the river, empty the last time I saw it, was now in a sort of state of occupation. Coats, boots, a small mirror, a few cloths, an ironic felt-tipped 'Home Sweet Home' above the inside door. Nearby, outside, were cooking utensils, buckets and pans, a couple of deck chairs, an old tent. Whoever lived there was not around that morning, even if signs of their rough living were.
