by Bryan Webster

Brandon Russell, *Untitled*, digital photograph, 2023. Courtesy of Unsplash.

Blue Vinyl Bed

Bryan Webster | AUG 2025 | Issue 48

Opening the door, I slide behind the big steering wheel of the old pickup. The ‘63 Chevy didn't come with power steering, so the steering wheel is huge. The heavy steel door closes with a loud creak. All the windows make for a fishbowl with me on display. Quick, lay down before anybody notices me. The strong smell of 90-weight gear oil and old upholstery permeates the air. It's going to be a cold wet night, so I won't have to worry about cracking a window for air tonight. Never leave the wind wing open; that makes it too easy to get inside of the truck. Nice, the armrest on the passenger door makes a good headrest and pillow, just the right height. Stretching out on the bench seat of this old pickup after a long hard day of shoveling and cleaning out horse stables, I press my back against the seat. The seat feels good on my sore muscles, the blue vinyl cold against my back. I press harder into the seat. The pelting of rain hits against the steel roof of the old truck, providing protection from the elements. The pelting of the rain is more than soothing; tonight's weather is a protection. The likelihood that anyone would be out on a night like this wanting to harass the homeless is minimal. I can sleep secured, without much worry. Pulling a grey Mexican blanket over my head, I’m warm, dry, comfortable, and secure on my blue vinyl bed, good night.

Bryan Webster grew up in Southern California and was abandoned by his parents at a young age, leading to homelessness from ages 16 to 29. In the early 1980s, he was one of the underage boys working the streets of Santa Monica Boulevard and the gay bars in West Hollywood as a prostitute. Today, Brian lives in Colorado with his wife and two cats, where he writes about his years of hardship and adventure while painting nature scenes.