Out of home can be at home. A picnicker on the hospital lawn talks to someone on phone. The ambulance has just arrived to offload a body. He hears a good news, and misses the tears and the gossip and the relief as they mourn home just another body in just another van, an anonymous group of mourners in this city of multitudes. The man was something to someone, somewhere. He was a hoarder they said. He built a hundred homes but never had a home to himself. He died after a long illness. Maybe, that is the reason they had such a sense of relief.