Being homeless is different in a small town like Port McNeill, where Mike says “a lot of good friends” help him with places to sleep. A couple people greeted Mike by name as we chatted outside the Subway, and one came out with a sandwich for him. He was surrounded by an eager circle of crows when I first approached, but said he’d be keeping that sandwich for himself. He jumped up a few times as we talked to hold the door for people on their way in. He said he’s got psychological problems, and wondered if I could help him with the stalker in his head who has tormented him for seven years. Wish I could, Mike. “Love you, sis!” he called out as I left.