Miguel rolled over on the thin mat that he used as a bed. Being transient meant sleeping in strange places, sometimes outdoors, which had prompted him to take a mat when it was offered at one of the shelters last year. Looking at the old fold-away clock his father had given him as a child, he saw it was almost midnight, not time to leave yet. This clock was the only thing he had been able to retain over all the years, through all the living arrangements. It reminded him of his father, a man who was rarely available, always working or entertaining. Was the clock a joke made by his father questioning him to find time to spend with him? He didn’t know, never would, as his father had died years ago. He hadn’t been there when he died, he didn’t even know where he was buried, but he would always have the clock.