A Longing for Respect On my morning walks, I often pass by a van parked in our neighborhood. Occasionally, the man who lives in it is awake, and we chat. He’s survived outside for years, having lost his home when he lost his last job. Because he gets food stamps, he eats okay, but his phone hardly ever functions, and he scrounges money to buy gasoline. Who knows where he gets the cash to buy the meth he depends on “to keep warm”? The other day, I found him pacing beside his vehicle, looking disgusted. He told me that someone had snuck into his van while he slept and stolen…