Nash A new start. After driving a moving van fourteen hours, putting his stuff in storage, living out of a suitcase for two weeks while sleeping on his best friend Brandon’s couch, and finally finding an apartment, Nash had a home. It was the size of a shoebox…but it was a home. He closed the door and turned to survey the studio. He didn’t have much stuff—­he’d sold most of it before coming up north. The windows behind his couch overlooked Third Street. His bed was pushed up against the left corner of the apartment, a nook where the living space met the outer walls of the bathroom, creating a dedicated sleeping space. The renovated kitchen lined the right-­side wall, conspicuously smaller than any kitchen Nash had ever seen, with a door at the end for a bathroom. He remembered the nights when the electricity went out and Mom had shouting matches with the electric company about extending their payment period. Memories of his twin mattress against the carpet made him thankful for the fact that he could afford a box spring now. While the walls could have used a new coat of paint, as Brandon so kindly pointed out,…