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 I wasn't sure if it was true when I passed it. But there it was, crudely constructed with a 2x4, a metal fence post, and a milk crate nailed and zip-tied around it. The camp was far from the road; if you were riding by, you'd never see it. Not that anyone did that around here anymore. I was on my way to scavenge some new comforts. Nothing crazy, nothing that I needed. This was a fun walk. A walk just for me. I didn't do that too often, but today I needed it. I looked, and there it was, with a familiar silhouette of a stack of books wrapped in grocery bags to keep the stray rain away. I stopped dead, slowing my breathing to catch any sound that was out of the ordinary. All I could hear was the steady woosh of the blood in my head. I slowly approached the crate and lifted the bag of books. It was loosely tied, so I could easily take or leave one. I looked at the spines of the books to get the titles.

I now have a book about how to build things with random objects. I remember seeing this book at the library back when I used to go. The author was a famous blogger who made all sorts of random things out of whatever he could find. I now know how to build a storm- and cold-resistant shelter with tires. I’m really excited about it.

I walk back by the post a few hours later, with the new books still in the plastic bag now in my pack. I stop and pull out a magazine I found while I was "shopping"—a science magazine with some interesting engineering articles. I place it in the bag, loosely tie it, and put it back in the crate. I wonder if anyone will ever see it.