Four squatters huddle in tents, makeshift and close to traffic on the narrow cement verge of a six-lane boulevard. They dwell in rush hour's stink, until winter stalks them and heavy snow threatens. They all agree to vacate their flimsy roadside homes before nightfall when city plows will smash them flat. The oldest man leaves first, scores a ride to who-knows where. The youngest one walks and walks squinting into the wind. The last two shrug and wait longer than they should, until a black-and-white stops, and jail for vagrancy sounds fine.