I ride to work every day on the Mount Vernon Trail. I normally see a dozen or so people that I call my regulars. The 40 something runner with the odd hop in his stride, the smiling woman cyclists always headed in the opposite direction, the guy with a single speed bike who commutes miles and miles in his street clothes all year long. Lately I have been seeing a homeless man in the morning. I imaging he sleeps overnight in Dyke Marsh, far from the eyes of the authorities. His clothing is little more than rags. Last week he wore cutoff trousers for shorts. They had long tears in them through which you could see the white of his behind. He's always heading north. Alone.