The fugitive still lives (lurks may be a better term) in the vicinity. He thinks about it now - the escape from the unlocked paddy wagon, the game of cat 'n mouse with the cops, that final stand-off in the rose gardens… It's amazing what you can squeeze into 48 hours.
Now he sits in his fern-roofed bivvy, waiting for washing day. Clotheslines are wonderful things, everything clean and bright, hung out for his perusal. Dressing up like folks is about the only entertainment he's got. If he could nab a pair of heels, maybe some lippy... that’d be sweet.