In the drizzly cold of late November, eighty people empty two large moving trucks. They are in high spirits as they unload big, clear plastic bags of personal belongings, metal filing cabinets and towers of crates which will later be used for everything from shelving units to bed frames.
A.K. Mimi Allin, a small, unassuming woman, is among them, shaking out tarps, setting up pallets and raking out the parking lot.
Allin, a poet, is not homeless, but she has chosen to live alongside those who are for the next 90 days.