Richard Demar is a pedestrian's nightmare. Dressed in torn jeans and a partly shredded brown parka, he zigzags down a crowded sidewalk near Seattle's popular Pike Place Market. One hand clenched in a fist, the other clutching a Styrofoam cup, Demar, 32, looks fierce and menacing as he stumbles along, working the crowd. "Got some change, man?" he half demands of an elderly gentleman who promptly escapes into a store. Farther down the block, he fixes his glassy gaze on a well-dressed woman toting a shopping bag brimming with gifts. "Come on, ma'am. Can't you spare me something? I got to...
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