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guy, digging around in his shopping cart. I wondered if he knew where Allegheny Power was. Why would he? It wasn’t like he had electric bills to pay.
    I couldn’t help staring at him, though, because I’ve always kind of identified with homeless people. I know that sounds weird. I have a home. I even have a family. Although Dad’s more like a widower who happens to have a son. A son whose face he can’t picture and whose name he can’t remember.
    Maybe I think about homeless people a lot because of what Dad always says. If you can’t solve the simplest problems, you’ll end up on the street. I often wonder if that’s where I’ll end up. What’s it like to have no home? And no family?
    The man looked up. He had dark bushy eyebrows and his face was bony and had stubby hairs on it like he hadn’t shaved. But he had kind of a rock-star face, the type girls would chase after. Except that he was a homeless dude. And old. Probably forty.
    He eyed my Shop ’n Save bag. “Is that food for the soup kitchen?” He pointed to the building I’d thought was the electric company and I saw another sign: Soup Kitchen 12:00-2:00 P.M. “Because it’s after hours.”
    I shook my head. “I’m trying to get to Allegheny Power.”
    â€œCorner of Bartlett and Main.”
    â€œRight, but how do I get there?”
    He gave me a whole list of directions, and as usual, they all left my brain as fast as he said them. I wished I’d brought a pencil and paper.
    â€œThanks.” I picked up my bag and walked off like I knew where I was going. All the lefts and rights were jumbled in my head and I had no idea how I was going to get there. When I got to the corner, I started to turn left.
    â€œHey, kid!” he shouted. “I said right turn, then two blocks and turn left! Got it?”
    â€œYup. Thanks. Uh . . . how many blocks again before I turn right?”
    He shook his head and grabbed his shopping cart. “I’ll show you—wait a minute.” He called across the street to the park. “Hey, Tresa!”
    One of the moms looked over and waved.
    â€œWhat time does Allegheny Power close?”
    The woman looked at her watch and called back, “About five minutes ago!”
    I let out a groan. “Oh, great! Now I’ll never get the electricity turned on.”
    â€œTurned on where?” he asked.
    â€œAt my great-aunt and -uncle’s house.”
    He examined me for a moment. “Mike?”
    I stared back. “How did you know?”
    He rubbed his forehead, distracted. “It’s a small town.” He jerked his head in the direction of the park. “Come on over to my office. Let me see if I can help get their power back.”
    I didn’t see how he could help me with anything, much less getting power. Still, there was nothing else to do and I figured it was safe, what with other people in the park. I followed him as he pushed his cart across the street. The contents jiggled and clanked like a muffled load of recycling. He headed toward a park bench with a newspaper on it.
    â€œIs that your office?” I asked.
    â€œThat? Are you kidding? Of course not.”
    He walked his rattling cart behind a freshly painted green bench, took off his jacket, and draped it over the front end of the cart. “This is my office. Have a seat.” He reached over to his cart and pulled out a cell phone. “Tresa! What’s Allegheny’s number?”
    My mouth dropped open. I’d never seen a homeless guy with a cell phone.
    He looked at me and shrugged. “What? Tresa’s dad used to work there, so she knows the number by heart.” He dialed and eventually got a human and, with some very choice words, demanded “crisis assistance” because of an emergency situation at 517 North Poplar with elderly people and a child they were having to care for—me, I guess—and yes, he’d