By Fredricka R. Maister “Oh, my God!,” my sister Jody shouted. “There’s a homeless person sleeping here.” I ran over to where she was standing. A man, fully clothed (fortunately), was lying on the grass, passed out, stone cold. A suitcase, articles of clothing and a mattress were nearby. Empty bottles, food containers, plastic wrappings and other trash were strewn everywhere. This space had obviously become the man’s home. I wondered how long he had been living there or whether it was a temporary abode for the summer months. What made the scene most bizarre was that he was not...