You step outside into the 'burbs, then hesitate, then turn right around and follow your tracks back inside the bike garage.
"Oh hey again dude," the owner says. You can see him straining, trying to remember where he saw you before. Was it Burning Man in 2004? Or maybe Woodstock '99? No, it was thirty seconds ago. He obviously has no idea who you are, so you reintroduce yourself and he hires you on the spot. Epicycle is more than half garage, and your new employer shows you the workshop, the storage shed, the kitchenette (you help yourself to a vegan brownie), and the cramped front office. Epicycle occupies a house off the main drag, but two customers come in while you get the tour—this place does good business, even if no one wants their palm read or their fortune told.
Since you're not a mechanic, your job is to free the owner up to make repairs by handling all the ordering and logistics that he doesn't have time for. Epicycle uses a proprietary inventory management system called A.R.E.O.P.A.G.I.T.E. that might be the single worst-designed piece of software you've ever used. And the pay is terrible. But the hours are flexible: as long as you can turn a job around in 48 hours, the owner is happy.
You receive two more tarot card readings (The Moon never appears) and a palm reading before the owner finally gives you his name—Udolpho Plotinus—and tells you to show up tomorrow "around nine-ish."
Still without shelter, you head back to the abandoned house, but then you spot a police SUV sitting with its lights off across the street. You fade back into the tangle of woods and fields that exist off the Map and hurry across town as the temperature drops until you reach a shipping container you noticed earlier. You repeat your trick with free newspapers and broken sticks. The fire this time gives off foul black smoke, and barely warms the metal container, but you're still able to get a few hours of sleep.
Freezing rain in the night: when you awaken in the morning, the world is frozen and sparkling. Shimmering little rills of melting water run past your tall boots. You can't stop shaking, even after a half-hour of moving around. This can't go on. You need shelter.
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