Gasworks Park on a cold wintry day. My teenage daughter and I wandered through the open building of pipes and machinery on a lunch break. We noticed a wood pallet behind one machine. On closer inspection, we realized it was a windbreak; personal items were evident, as was someone asleep in a dark blue bag. We quickly backed away, half afraid and half not wanting to disturb this person in their “home.” Hearts saddened, we assumed it was an adult male, perhaps a veteran or someone mentally ill. Perhaps both. Neither of us considered that the person in that bag, hiding out from the cold, might be a teenager, someone my daughter’s age, a young girl. Homeless.