I recognized him as soon as he got off the Lake Merritt TRAB train. It was the same young brotha who always asks me for change as I waited at the Glen Park TRAB Station for the Blue Line train when I was on my way home from work. Lanky all over, even his eyes are long. Last time I saw him, he had on a green Polo shirt not long enough to cover the sag in his faded jeans. He seemed to be the same age as my students – sixteen or seventeen years old. He always had the same story: “Can you help me? I ran away from my group home so that I could see a friend. Now I’m trying to get back before curfew, but I don’t have enough money for the fare. Can you help me?” He didn’t smell unhoused or seem like he was on drugs, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. The first time, I gave him two dollars. The second time, I gave him …