In this post, I mention that, upon my arrival, there were already several other vehicles that looked like they could be home to serial killers, the mentally-insane, or otherwise psychologically degenerate human beings. Some of the vehicles, namely a truck and a few RVs, move around occasionally, a sure sign of life. Others, like the hippie van pictured above on the far right, have not moved in the two months I've been here. However, despite these clear signs of organic life, I had never actually encountered any other people who were Livin' La Vida Loca(motive).

That is, until last week.

Allow me to set the scene, as I sometimes do. It's a Monday night, nearly indistinguishable from most others. If anything were to set it apart, it'd be my general tardiness in getting back to the box. It's about 10 PM at this point, well-beyond sunset, a deviance from my normal 9 PM arrival. I've just finished washing up and biking back to my home, and I'm walking across the parking lot when I see someone get out of the truck pictured above, center. I can hardly contain my excitement, after all, I'm finally making contact, a flesh and bone confirmation that I'm not alone in my endeavors. My change in pace or direction must have come to their attention, because they immediately started looking around nervously, which makes sense; they didn't know what my intentions were. I introduce myself, and let him know that I'm the occupant of the truck next door, which naturally brings him relief. Among all of the possible reasons someone would approach you in a parking lot, "wanting to meet the neighbors" is probably the best one.

There was a little bit of a language barrier, but from what I gathered, he had driven here from a few states over in his truck. Once he got out here, he hopped on Craigslist and found a camper for around $1,000, which is definitely an interesting (and even more frugal) approach. He's only interning here, so his arrangement is more temporary. I gave him a brief tour of my dwelling, which he commended on its spacious, open floor plan. We spoke for a few minutes about the various difficulties we've come across and where we park and other normal truck-person conversation, then we parted ways.

So there it is. I've officially met my first real-life neighbor. In the week since, I've run into him a few times walking to and from the box, and even once out on the road. If nothing else, it's nice having some tangible proof that even if I am insane, I'm not the only one.

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