HALIFAX (CUP)—A man named Jim has solved the same housing crisis faced by many university students in Halifax this year. He lives in a van on the Dalhousie campus.

Now comes the part in his story where we discuss the nagging cocaine and alcohol addiction that cost him his job and his wife… Only that wouldn’t be true. Jim lives in a van at Dalhousie in the warmer months because he wants to. At 53, the self-proclaimed miser lives on less food a day than even the poorest student.

“I eat cornmeal and raisins for lunch every day,” he said. “My stomach doesn’t know the difference once I’m full.”

Jim used to work for the federal government in the Arctic Circle, where he watched for Russian missiles aimed at the United States. He saved all his money and lived well below his means. He had $50,000 that he invested and now lives off the interest—or the smallest amount he can.

in the winter, he drives his van to Florida where he sleeps at rest stops and Wal-Marts. The road calls Jim and the road is the only thing he answers to.

“A lot of people walk by me and think it’s disgusting. I think they think, ‘This guy is living in his vehicle and can’t afford anything else,’” he says. “For me, it’s not out of desperation. It’s out of choice and I like it.”

Today, Jim has splurged for lunch and the thick smell of peanut butter hangs heavy on his breath as he steps out of the van. He’s not particularly tall or stocky; he has an average build with short, gray hair and a smooth face with a light smile, echoing his quiet demeanor. In other words, he fits the stale profile of a serial killer.

But Jim doesn’t like that kind of action. He’s a little dull, entertaining himself with books about investing.

“It’s not an entertainment, it’s a distraction,” he says. “And it’s a challenge to try to keep myself from being too depressed about the meaninglessness of life.”

He finds the meaning of his life in the freedom of going wherever he wants to go, when he wants to. That absolute independence affords him a different view of things—a choice of what to do next. He has no idea what’s next, but doesn’t seem to mind.

“I might live like this the rest of my life,” he says. “I might want to live inside sometime. But it’s having the choice that’s important to me.”

It’s choice that drives Jim. He hangs out at Dalhousie to use the books and Internet on campus, and then disappears into the shadows of the maple trees. Perhaps some students have seen him lurking about, his head full of thoughts about investing and the general calmness that comes with having no schedule or specific place to be. He has become a type of phantom, with rumors and folklore made up to explain him. He’s already flown south for the winter, planning to return to Dalhousie next spring.

“Why should there be an end?” he says. “I don’t want to be aware of my end. To me, that’s like watching a movie when you know the ending. I don’t want to know the ending. I want it to be a surprise.”