It surprises a few people when they learn I write my reviews in a small, outdoor space barely big enough to fit two folding chairs, attached to an expensive apartment not much bigger. My pipe tobacco “cellar” is a well-protected, medium-sized chicken yakitori box from my sous days. Maybe some believe a “pipe guy” is someone of…substance. My work van had its spare tire robbed by meth head neighbors over the weekend. I live a vagabond lifestyle fit for an aging millennial nomad, constantly moving to cheaper rents and for better pay. Or housing crashes and layoffs. I’m a writer, and I don’t know too many whose footsteps I’ve followed that lived an opulent lifestyle, or cared too much about keeping up with the neighbors. The bills are paid, however, and even in modern American asceticism, some gems are still available. Believe me, it’s not that bad: I’m far from miserable.