a cafeteria conversation

An aged African American man sits across the table. A simple 'hello' is all it takes to learn more about him. There are two of us who speak to him. I ask him how long has he lived in these parts. This is all it takes; he replies, "all of my life, though I had been places in my youth. This is my home." He says that people worked their whole lives for this structure, but lost everything within one night. He said people lost families, and their homes. His house, once down the street, is gone now. Many homes, he said, are left ungutted.

He spoke of governmental inefficiency, of having nothing left. In a few days, he said, he'd go visit the neighboring town to visit friends he hasn't seen in a year. They are all he has left, he says. All I can do in the meanwhile is nod, provide my attention, and let him continue his words. He appears upset, his facial expression changes, and he speaks of governmental funds to encourage people to return--but what can two hundred to three hundred dollars a month do? After his rhetoric question, he abruptly leaves the table. I cannot finish what I am eating.