It’s not every day I talk to someone sitting on the sidewalk outside a corner market in Dallas, Texas, who appeared to live on the street. He seemed drunk, a little shaky, as he leaned on the brick building.

He held out a white paper cup, asking for coins, and I pulled out a sealed envelope with a card inside, handing it to him. The bushy-haired man sat on the concrete through our entire chat, propping himself up on the bricks, leaning on one arm part of the time.

At times, his words fell from h...