As children we slept under wagons. When you are seven, everyone assumes you will think it's an adventure. And sometimes you do. But sometimes, even at seven, you think to yourself, I am tired of sleeping on the fucking ground. Sometimes you forget where you are and sit up when you wake up, slamming your forehead on the fifth wheel. Sometimes your feet are wet in the end of your sleeping bag, because in your sleep you can't control where your body goes, and sometimes it sticks parts of itself out in the rain. At night as you are drifting off, you make efforts to remind your body to stay under the wagon, where it's dry, and hope for the best.