Help is out there, often in unlikely places. One afternoon, I was riding a MUNI bus through a working-class San Francisco neighborhood. Seated across from me was a group of young African-American men, dressed mostly in sweat clothes with basketball shoes. An apparently homeless man pulled himself laboriously up the steps and showed the driver his transfer. He was dressed in dirty slacks, a ripped shirt, and a light sweater riddled with holes, little protection from the SF fog.