Member-only story
BOXES
Because less is often more
Joe, 38, hates boxes.
Hates everything about them.
Their unimaginative shape.
The dark corners.
And the fact that most of them all look the same.
“You’d better settle down,” Joe’s friends tell him.
“You’d better get serious.”
“You’d better find yourself a nice box while you still can.”
“Cause you aren’t getting any younger.”
But Joe shakes his head.
“Me in a box,” he mutters, “when those lids are shut up tight, no light gets in. Not even a sliver.”
“Jeez,” his friends will say to each other later at the bar. “He’ll never grow up.”
“He’s got his head in the clouds.”
“And really? Who lives like that?”
Joe does, that’s who.
In a 150-square-foot converted shipping container.
Sleeping under a diamond-shaped hole he made in the roof — cut so he can view the Big Dipper almost every night.
A hammock.
A couch.
A coffee pot.
