By the time Inglourious Basterds and Harry Potter had slipped into our discussion, the One Night Count felt more like a fraternizing affair than a civic one. So far, our flashlit trek through Woodland Park had shed more light on the film tastes of my fellow employees than on any hidden homeless population in the woods-and although I was happy to gab Golden Globes, the topic of conversation was clear evidence that we could afford to be distracted. If the homeless were out, they didn't seem very about. And because of it, our search had adopted an air of hollow formality, despite my previous hopes to make this one night count for something.

The search was racking up a number of other forfeited illusions, too, although one or two of them were admittedly pretty silly to begin with:

You mean we won't be surveying the people we find about their troubles? Only hindsight has helped me understand the problem with shaking a sleeping stranger awake, shining a flashlight in their eye and asking them if they've ever been harassed for being homeless.

You mean we're not striving for exact statistics? For example, we were supposed to automatically count a lived-in car as two homeless people, instead of peeking into the vehicle to confirm more accurate numbers. It's not a stretch to assume that closing in on all sides of someone's home at night and pressing our faces against their windows might have invited a couple of modest disasters.

Even my playful assumption about the semi-adventure this would be-dark forest, lonely walk-was muted by the two partners at my side: Charlie Corrigan and Kipp Westmark, who together seemed to have an incorruptible sense of direction. The chances of any scary movie shenanigans happening were depressingly slim.

So with time, I settled into what the Count probably was, versus what I had made it: a well-meaning effort to put a number on who's homeless in King County, rather than an unforgettable experience in assaulting poverty. I could go home having done my duty, and give myself a pat on the back for trying. I was looking forward to sleeping, anyway.

Just before wrapping up, we decided to check a roofed cluster of park benches. As we approached, flashlights low, my hopes a little higher, we did discern something that made us stop walking: a human-sized lump on one of the benches, fully covered in a green sleeping bag. And as I probably should have guessed, the feeling that came over me had nothing to do with accomplishment or satisfaction. The person in front of me was sleeping alone and in the cold. I had wanted to add a significant number to the One Night Count, but maybe it wouldn't have hurt to hope it was zero.

The sleeping bag remained still. Our flashlights and footsteps hadn't awakened whoever was inside.

"Let's leave that person alone," Charlie said.

And we did, turning from the benches and meeting up with the rest of our group to dish the numbers and dash. A half hour later, I was sleeping on my pillow and beneath my down comforter, with the thermostat exactly where I wanted it.

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Building Changes staff and board members were among the nearly 1,000 volunteers counting people sleeping outdoors in urban, suburban, and rural King County in the wee hours of the morning on Friday, January 22nd. Volunteers counted 2,759 people sleeping on the streets, in parks, in their cars, in temporary shelters and in makeshift campsites.

To learn more about King County's One Night Count, go to:

Seattle/King County Coalition on Homelessness

Yearly count finds fewer homeless in King County
The Seattle Times, 1/29/10

Homeless Count Finds Five Percent Fewer on Street
The Stranger: Slog, 1/29/10