Some have called me a ghost in the past. The way I walk about Portland, often when nobody else is around, reveling in the quiet streets and the old buildings. I certainly feel like a ghost at times. I moved down Congress Street, wearing a new coat and my leather gloves. The night was cold, but thankfully not as cold as it had been the last couple nights. But it was still cold. I was walking to meet some friends at a bar. As I neared a lingerie boutique called Etain, I noticed a man sitting sprawled out on the sidewalk next to it. His legs were splayed, and he just sat there, looking defeated, his head bowed in silence. I walked past him…