When I was attending a university in Germany, I lived alone and did research in the university library. Occasionally, I was aware of that peculiar kind of loneliness called homesickness. On those days, I found solace listening to a street performer named Terry. Terry was homeless, and he spent his afternoons on an old stone bridge near the university. I would often listen to him play American folk songs and feel a nostalgic pull toward home. Even though his voice sounded as if he had just gargled a handful of gravel, Terry knew how to work a crowd. He would begin with upbeat songs, grinning his toothless smile as he sang with enthusiasm. Then, he would slow the pace of his repertoire and become more introspective. Terry always ended with his signature piece—Bob Dylan’s classic, “Like a Rolling Stone.” As he sang about living in the world with no place to call home, his audience stilled.