The liminal space between my car and your front door. First time I stayed overnight in your spare room, as I left you, your talk transfixed me. Second time I stayed in another spare room, somewhere in the space you tell me of your solo journey across the USA, sleeping in your car which had its very own curtains. Journeys to and from your front door. Transitions, transitions, between the white car and a, to be reconfigured, point of entry in your new home. I am at both sides of the boundary ... or so it seems as your friend of 30 years ... and as such there is liminality for me.