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There's a few vans on Del's sister's property a few blocks away from where I live. Vans and about everything else; one of those crowded cluttered lots where everything is saved but nothing is used. The house was run down even before the Olds started coming back. That "rezoning meeting scheduled" sign on the weeds out front makes me smile, but not a happy one. But that house, wow. I guess it's at least dry inside, in spots.
Anyways, the vans. The Dodge is my favorite, it has the high roof and the sofa-bed in back, and you can sit there for a bit if you clear away some papers and clothes and wires and whatever. The weatherstripping is still reasonable, and the motor still runs, and sometimes we go in there to warm up a bit, if we find some gasoline to spare. Can't go anywhere with the worn-out transmission, and the wheel bearings must be shot by now too. I hide few things in the vans so they aren't lying out when the centaurs come around, demanding whatever stuff they decide they like that day. I don't know why they never think of going behind the house to those vans. They might talk like us, but they aren't as smart as they say they are. Not from what I can tell, at least. They sure can kick hard, though. Just ask Del.