After a hectic month of travel in May, June was a slow jaunt through my northeast haunts.

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June marks three full months of wandering. May took me to eight towns or cities across four states. Here are some moments.

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One of my most vivid memories of camp last year is of Joybubbles, who, during the talent show after-party in the tea yurt, got up to deliver an impassioned, impromptu speech about bravery.

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I stayed two nights last week at an Airbnb in South Berkeley, a looming purple house just off of Ashby Avenue, separated from the road by a dense thicket of vegetation. It was cheap, around $45 per night. I was filling space between six days of catsitting in the city and a weekend trip to Arizona. The listing touted a “hostel-like” experience, five rooms for rent in a shared space. The hosts, M. and A., were responsive and detailed in their communication. I was hopeful.

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There are a few words commonly used to describe how I am living. Depending on who you ask, I am “nomadic” or transient. Footloose or bicoastal. Remote. Home-free. All of these words have their own connotations but are, generally speaking, apolitical.

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