There's a Vagrant At My Door

My office has recently moved to the posh and desireable Brentwood, TN. On my commute, which now takes me nearly twice as long, I pass house after house that has three stories and is simply grand. One day I fully anticipate my car breaking down on the narrow, no shoulder road and me, without cell phone, will go to one of these fancy places, knock on the door of this enormous home to beg that they call a tow truck and/or my office for me and have the police called. I can hear the caller saying, "Yes, officer, there is a vagrant at my door." Woe is me.