Today, Bececio is sitting with the homeless version of my ex’s mom. She mumbles something about the newspaper in front of her, then something about showering. “You know”, Benecio says, “I don’t always have to be there with you while you shower. I can wait over here” (he motions left), “or over here” (he motions right). She nods, and continues on about the newspaper. “You got any cash on you?”, he asks in a superior tone. “No, no cash”, she says without looking up. He sighs in disappointment, breathing out a mouthful of smoke in the process.