THE WOMAN SAT on a rolled-out sleeping bag beneath the protective awning of an office building, just barely out of the cold winter rain. Her hair, brown and curly, seemed bouncy in a way that she did not. She was perhaps 30, dressed in jeans and a pretty, if frayed, pink fleece jacket. She might have been a backpacker ready to embark on a weekend camping trip—except that she wasn’t. An array of plastic bottles holding water and GatorAde sat next to her on the sidewalk. As I watched from the window of my dry, warm car, she rooted through a large backpack and pulled out an extra pair of socks.