At a few minutes before seven o’clock on this Saturday morning, the usual line of about twenty customers needing their morning infusions of caffeine was already growing along Haight Street at the establishment’s front door. A long-haired man named Wes Farrell, in jogging pants and a T-shirt that read “DAM-Mothers Against Dyslexia,” stood holding in one hand the hand of his live-in girlfriend, Sam Duncan, and in the other the leash of Gertrude, his boxer. They, like many others in the city that morning, were discussing the homeless problem.

For decades San Francisco has been a haven for the homeless, spending upwards of $150 million per year on shelters, subsidized rental units, medical and psychiatric care, soup kitchens, and so on. Now, suddenly, unexpectedly, and apparently due to a series of articles that had just appeared in the Chronicle, came a widespread outcry among the citizenry that the welcome mat should be removed. Wes finished reading today’s article aloud to Sam and, folding up the paper, said, “And about time too.”

Sam extracted her hand from his. “You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t? I thought I did.”

“So what do you want to do with them, I mean once you give them a ticket, which by the way they have no money to pay, so that won’t work.”

“What part of that statement, I hesitate to call it a sentence, do you want me to address?”

“Any part. Don’t be wise.”

“I’m not. But I’d hate to be the guy assigned to trying to diagram one of your sentences.”

“You’re just trying to get me off the point. Which is what would you do with these homeless people who suddenly are no longer welcome?”