“Isiah, how do I look?” I ask nervously.
“Come again?” he responds, visibly confused.
“You know,” I begin. “Can you tell—can you tell that I’m homeless?”
“Zach,” he says flatly, “you look like every other student on campus.”
Oh, thank God, I say to myself. Filled with relief at my apparent ability to blend in, and feeling somewhat silly for assuming that a mere glance on the part of indifferent students could possibly reveal my circumstances.