In November 2005, I moved to Boise with a duffle bag of clothes, a Sony Discman and a Case Logic CD binder, and the first place I slept was the couch in my brother’s basement. It was meant to be a stopgap, a temporary measure to save money while my wife, Erica, stayed back in New Hampshire until our house sold. We figured it would only be a month or so. It ended up being four and some change, but for my own comfort and sanity, I bolted from the basement long before Erica landed in Boise on April 1, 2006.
In a micro sense, my return trip in July resembled those initial weeks in Boise 16 years ago. Twenty-four hours before my daughter, Magnolia, and I were to touch down on the tarmac, our lodging for the 16-day trip fell through, so I texted Travis to see if we could crash with his family until we sorted it out. But shortly into our stay, it became clear that, unless we ponied up for a hotel or Airbnb, we were stuck squatting on the basement sectional until the bitter end.
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