Scorpio, 53, moved to San Diego in 2003 when his two favorite football teams, the Raiders and Bucaneers, were playing in the Super Bowl at Qualcomm. A skilled worker in carpentry, roofing and cement, he figured the proposed residential high rises that were slated to go up around Petco Park would mean plenty of work to go around. Not so. He ended up in his car, doing a lot of crystal meth and spending time in jail here and in L.A. Having frown up in the Pacific Northwest skiing on snow in winter, lakes in the summer, he prefers being outdoors anyway, he said. He said most homeless are fat and lazy and need counseling. He also feels the city's politicians are taking money earmarked for homeless programs and putting it in their pockets because there are no public showers or bathrooms.

Tshakalisa, 34, emigrated from Zimbabwe as a college student, intent on medical school. With the help of friends and scholarships he earned a degree in biology and a secondary education in nursing. He worked at fast food restaurants until he had his degree and then worked in health clinics, in a jail clinic and with the healthcare company HCA as a surgical nurse. Until his visa ran out. He couldn't get help renewing the visa, so couldn't keep a job. Back home, war was threatening his family so he was granted asylum. But the stress took its toll on him. The stress and his dyslexia made taking medical exams difficult. He was worried about what his parents would think of him if he failed. He turned to drugs, did a few too many, and pulled a knife on someone. He went to jail. When he got out he fled that scene, coming to San Diego to start life over.

James Forristal, 40, grew up in Kansas City. His father had anger issues, and his mother wasn't around much. His sister moved in with her boyfriend, and he earned his GED so he could get a job and move out on his own. He did clerical work in a bank and a corporate office, but it became boring. So he moved to San Diego, where his family had spent a happy vacation. All was well until his uncle got cancer last year and James returned home to be with him through is passing. A sensitive, introverted individual, James is affected deeply by global crises like Fukushima and war refugees. Since returning to San Diego he has had stress issues, been beaten and was recently hospitalized with pneumonia. He turns to opiates for comfort but retains his quiet independence.

Art is Enrique's happy place. North County native Enrique Alonzo Cabrera, 53, migrated to the east coast when his parents disapproved of him being gay. He lived in Baltimore with his partner nearly a decade before missing the California sun. He moved to Hollywood, found a new partner, who survived longer than most with AIDS. Enrique soaked his sorrows in a bad decision, having sex with someone in a nightclub bathroom, who told the police Enrique had assaulted him. After three years in prison, seven on probation, Enrique keeps a low profile, watching his diet because he is insulin-dependent, painting paper roses in exchange for coffee and a combo meal, and sleeping in a secret spot away from the downtown homeless scene.

Red knows how to fight. As the only fair-skinned white kid growing up in South Central LA, being called Carrot Top set him off. He slipped right into a gang culture and never left it, gaining a reputation forbeing the one to do the craziest stuff, “like jump through someone’s window to grab their jewelry box,” he said. Hi father was a hard-working machinist who eventually stole something to feed his large family. He went to prison for it. Red was in and out of CYA camps, then prison himself. A road trip with a friend took him to Canada where he fell in love, started a family, but was chased out by his girlfriend's mother, who alerted authorities to his illegal status. After 20 years on San Diego's streets, Red says he's ready to go inside and settle down, but no one will rent to a man with no real income and a prison record.

“I don’t know why they just don’t make homelessness illegal,” said Randell, 50, as he folded up his tent for the weekly cleanup on 17th Street downtown. “They keep coming up with this measly little laws around the edge: no loitering, jay walking, no carts, encroachment. I thought encroachment was in football.” Randell grew up in San Diego, went to San Diego High. He wonders why the city doesn't open up it's empty buildings for the homeless; since they're paying for electricity to be on, and the property taxes, he said, why not take the people off the street, give them real counseling. "The city shouldn’t complain about the problem and then not do anything about it,” he said.

Louis Roldan, 29, is traveling the world playing music and philosophizing through his experiences. Born in Chicago to a hard working teenager and a Puerto Rican heroin addict. His father would sell the food from the cabinets, even the t.v., to get high. Every time he was in prison he swore he would change, but never did. Louis has learned how to not treat people, has studied political science and hopes to some day become a judge. In the meantime, he plays his ukelele for the Universe, mostly in the U.S., Mexico and across Europe. In the U.S., people see him as homeless, but in Europe they see him as a young traveler and invite him in, thanking him for his music and his fresh attitude.

Steve Hillard, 52, grew up just a mile from where he is now living on the street under a freeway bridge. He laments the way many of the drug-addicted homeless will stay up all night going through trash "like it's a treasure hunt" leaving the place a mess that reflects poorly on everyone else. He wishes the police and the city officials would treat them like citizens with more money that the homeless have, and give them a decent job with a living wage so they can get a place to live that a person on a minimum wage can afford.

Joel, 36, originally from Alpine, went through some tough times trying to stay in touch with his son. His ex-girlfriend made it a moving target, however, enough to drive Joel into drugs and depression. After getting clean, he relapsed and losing his car made it tough to get to work on time, so he lost his job. Now he lives for the moment, keeping track of his few possessions, moving them around when the police conduct sweeps downtown.

Danny, 46, has been out of prison for just over a year. A skinhead from Santee, he served 14 years for selling drugs. Now he's finding an unsympathetic world, unwilling to give him a decent job or housing for himself, his girlfriend and her 14-year-old son as he tries to start over.