He had a huge apartment full of beautiful things until very recently, but he sold everything to buy something else. That was what the box was for, the one Louisa saw behind the trash can. But the artist wasn’t dirty because he was sleeping outside, as Louisa thought, he was only dirty because a fairly crazy girl had collided with him and he had landed on the ground, and the ground happened to be made of dirt. It wasn’t his blanket lying beside the trash can, and it wasn’t his cat either.
