Walking in to a Southeastern CT convenience store off I-95, there was a hairy young man playing the guitar. You never see buskers at a place like this.<p>I dug it, and told the guy he made my day. We got to talking, he told me he had grown up in CT, and just got back from his trip discovering America.<p>The owner of the store was trying to chase him out. &quot;I&#x27;m a regular customer here, this man is bringing culture to this rest stop, let him stay&quot; I said.<p>He had gone west on I-80, stopped in Colorado for a couple years, then headed down to New Orleans, living in his hatchback and playing the guitar.<p>&quot;I&#x27;ve been all over the country&quot; He said. &quot;But this is the place to be!&quot;<p>I knew how he felt, because I had made a very similar trip in my car upon college graduation, and felt the same way. I had gone to Austin, TX after Colorado.<p>I however had to pay high rents, and obsessively scale online dating campaigns taking big risk to keep the money monster constantly fed.<p>This guy claimed to love living in the car. He said he slept very comfortably in the front seat. He seemed really  happy.<p>I thought I was pretty free, working for myself. But this guy was <i>free</i> in a way I will probably never know.<p>You just have to be comfortable sleeping in the reclined front seat of a 1995 hatchback and be pretty good at the guitar I guess, or have a trust fund.