Boxed In on San Francisco's Streets: Homeless Man Shares His Story

I see the tents and tarps every day on my drive to work, dozens of them under the freeway overpass on 13th Street in San Francisco. It's usually the more colorful details that catch my eye -- a red U.S. Marine Corps flag stretching over one campsite, a rainbow-colored parachute billowing from another.

That's probably why I never noticed a rectangular box sitting on the sidewalk. It's drab, ordinary plywood -- something you might use to transport a large musical instrument or a piece of furniture. Turns out there's a man bundled up inside. His name is Hoyt Walker. He's 49 years old.

"In here it's just my bed,"  says Walker, as I peer inside. "I have a milk crate back there that has candles sitting on it. My shoes are right here, my backpack, one of my coats."

Walker says a series of "bad choices" landed him here: Selling drugs. Going to prison. Getting slapped with two more probations. Losing his housing. Walker has bad hips and an aching knee, so he spends a lot of time just lying in the box, thinking about how to break this grim cycle.

"I call it a living coffin," he says. "That's my nickname for it."

In the meantime, Walker says, he's got to get through the tough day-to-day of living outside. El Niño isn't helping. When the first big storm hit in January, Walker says he "freaked out." It was raining inside the box.

"I ended up opening an umbrella in here," Walker laughs. "Sleeping under an umbrella and a bunch of blankets."

Walker he's staying drier now, thanks to a cover he constructed out of plastic shower curtain linings. He sewed them together with zip ties and cooking twine. I compliment Walker on his creativity.

"I used to work for Boeing Aircraft," he says.

Walker says this homeless encampment is full of people who are smart and talented. Walker is into music -- jazz, especially.  And he loves to sing, even here in the box.  But not today.

"No, I got a cold right now," he explains, punctuating the sentence with a wet, chesty cough. "But I do sing. I love to sing."

Other people I talk to on this sidewalk also tell me they're sick -- both physically and mentally. Walker says he struggles with post-traumatic stress disorder and depression. I ask him if it would help to go to a shelter, where he could at least stay warm -- maybe talk to a counselor. He says he can't.

"Shelters want you to get up at a certain time, come in at a certain time. My body won't allow it," he says. "They want me to get up at 6 o'clock? My hips might not allow it 'till 9.  It's just -- that's it."

Walker still hopes he can turn his life around. Step one is  "to get the hell out of this box by the weekend."

He wants to get a "real place," get off probation and, one day, reunite with his children, who live in Texas.

"It's not cool out here," Walker says. "This is for the birds."