Jack Martin’s foot presses down ever so slightly on the gas pedal, inching the white, government-issue Ford Ranger through the gentle curves of a cul-de-sac he’s come to know by heart. All around him the sun-warmed walls of pink stucco homes seem to stretch and melt into one another like…

Scrawled in green, the cursive Stein Mart logo stands out against the coral stucco of the strip mall. This is Boca Raton, the pink city, so color coordination is a chief concern. Inside there are reptile-print slippers in turquoise, silver, and ruby. Pastel aromatherapy candles are stacked on a table,…

Three tourists step out of the bright light, their pupils dilating in the newfound shade. They glance, bug-eyed, at their green plastic poker chip, then at Tom Vogel Jr. It’s a beseeching gaze, but Vogel, laid-back in sneakers, khaki shorts, and fish-print shirt, only smiles, points to a sign on…

Warren Chiavaroli doesn’t give money to panhandlers. No, he says matter-of-factly, he gives cans. Well, not a can, really. It’s actually a skinny cardboard tube about the diameter of a roll of wrapping paper, cut down to about three inches high. The little cylinder is called a Can of Help…