Csaba tells me he trained at a premier ballet school before coming to Canada 26 years ago, and I can see it in his grace. He’s working on a wreck of an umbrella when I spot him, trying to make it useful for the wet week ahead. He keeps a low profile, setting up where he isn’t easily seen, and has lived outside “for probably too long a time at this point.” I show him my Instagram feed, but he turns away from it quickly and apologizes for not being able to look. It’s reminding him of all of his own photos of loved ones and days past that he has lost in this drifting life.