In 1992 I was homeless in Silicon Valley.
Well, not homeless, exactly. I was working in a yogurt shop and had somehow convinced the owner of the shop to let me sleep, rent-free, in the attic above the store. Once, when I was letting myself in late at night, the police stopped me. They thought I was trying to rob the place.
I couldn’t blame them. I probably would have stopped me, too. But I was surviving.