Down and out in Seattle

SLEEPING ON THE STREET is nothing like the campsite Jack and Ernst have found. It's a beautiful stretch of woods within spitting distance of the beach. "I call it a working vacation," Jack says with a smile. As at most campsites, however, they can only stay for a limited time—10 days in this case. To get another 10 days, they'll switch names on the registration form. Then if they can bum a ride off someone, they'll move to another campsite a few miles away, stay there 20 days, move back and so on.

Knowing full well that their intricate plans could go awry at any step, Jack and Ernst take turns being optimistic and pessimistic. Earlier that day, Jack recalls, he asked Ernst for a reality check on the fishing-boat scheme: "Is that a fantasy I'm holding onto?"

Are they on a dead-end trail? Possibly not. Many people in their situation do get up and out. Rick Reynolds, executive director of the late-night shelter referral service Operation Nightwatch, estimates that 25 percent of the people he sees are "short-termers" overcoming whatever temporary crises landed them on the street.

At a weak moment, though, Ernst laments that even if he and Jack find housing, his long-term prospects are dubious: "I figure I'm 46, I'm one of those people who's never going to get on my feet. I don't have a trade or profession. I'll never make the kind of money where I could hope to buy a home."

But more immediate concerns intrude. Night is around the corner, and Jack and Ernst need to get to sleep soon so they can make their 5:30 bus in the morning.